Death at Dinner

by L. A. Nisula

  Mr. Sharma had been sitting near Miss Carrollton. I grabbed the straight-back chair and dragged it over to the place it had been that night when Mr. Sharma had been sitting in it. When I sat in it, I had a clear view of the settee, but not of the rest of the room, although I did have a good view of the door. In fact, I was able to keep my head down as if I were looking at the patient and still watch the door out of the corner of my eye. But what would Mr. Sharma have been looking for? Or whom? I ran my hand along the edge of the cushion but felt nothing.

  I pushed the chair back where it had been and went to the seat by the fire. The angle was slightly different. I nudged it into place and pantomimed putting the tray on the table. I kept trying until I got the chair into what I thought was the right position then sat down again.

  From this angle, Mrs. Delford would have been able to see the fire and very little else. I ran my hand along the edge of the cushion, feeling around until my fingers brushed against a bit of loose fabric. I pulled it out and discovered it was a handkerchief. Clean, neatly hemmed, with the initials “L.D.” embroidered in stem stitch with blue thread on the edge. Mrs. Lavinia Delford’s, no doubt. I tucked it in my pocket as I stood. She would probably like it returned, and it would give me an excuse to visit her.

  There was nothing else in the room that I could think of, so I went back into the corridor.

  I went past the study next, expecting it to be closed off like the dining room was, but it wasn’t. The door wasn’t even shut all the way. But of course, the study wasn’t a crime scene; we’d just stored the body there until the police came for it, and we’d all gone there after being questioned. I tried to remember the scene when I’d first stumbled in. Mr. Ainsworth had been laid out on the sofa. Mr. Carrollton had been sitting beside it with his back to the door.

  There was nothing to be learned from the sofa, though. It had been covered with a slipcover matching the one on the armchair, and that had been removed, presumably with Mr. Ainsworth’s body.

  I sat on the sofa and scanned the room. I had a clear view of everything there, but then Mr. Ainsworth had been unable to see anything, so there was no point to me lying down to check the view. I did a quick feel on the cushions and knocked a few coins to the ground. Probably not a clue since there was no way to know whose they were or how long they’d been there, but they were evidence that I had been poking around, which was sure to annoy Inspector Hamilton, and probably Mr. Carrollton as well. I’d noticed even innocent people objected to having their rooms searched by nosy strangers, no matter how well-meaning. I knelt down and started collecting up the coins. I felt under the sofa to catch any that had rolled away and found a pipe, of all things. I pulled it out and looked at it.

  There was nothing in the study to suggest that Mr. Carrollton smoked a pipe, not even an ashtray, so it was most likely Mr. Ainsworth’s. I vaguely remembered him sneaking one like it out when he’d come into the kitchen. I stuck the coins back between the cushions and, after a moment’s thought put the pipe back under the sofa. I couldn’t return it to him after all.

  So what next? The desk. Maybe Mr. Carrollton had left some papers out, some clue about what Mr. Ainsworth had planned to tell him.

  But the desk was such a mishmash of papers, I couldn’t tell what was important and what wasn’t. I scanned the top layer, but it was all personal letters, something from Mr. Sharma accepting his invitation, a bill from a tailor, a past-due note from a dressmaker. I slid a small pillbox, blue enamel with copper trees, aside so I could read the description of the dress purchased: cream and peach taffeta, six cream velvet roses, Princess Victoria–style train. It was the dress Miss Carrollton had worn at the dinner party, and even though it was a past-due notice, it was marked paid in full at the bottom. So much for a sordid secret mistress. There wasn’t much else. The chair was perfectly normal. There was a mismatched bit of molding behind the desk, but it only concealed the wires from the telephone in the hall below. It looked like the chair had been hitting against them when they were exposed, fraying them. I didn't see a telephone in the study, but there could have been an extension upstairs, perhaps in the bedroom.

  I looked around the room to see if I’d missed anything, but then I heard footsteps in the hallway. I moved away from the desk at once and made it all the way to the door before I saw Mr. Carrollton come upstairs from the front hall. He was back early. I was too late to blend into the shadows, but I did manage to get into the corridor with the study door closed behind me before he spotted me.

  “Ellie, isn’t it? Did we need a maid again?”

  “No, sir. I’m visiting Mrs. Pomeroy.”

  “Oh, very nice for her. Did you find what you were looking for in there?”

  I realized it was strange for me to be in the study if I was supposed to be visiting the cook. I glanced towards the dining room, but saying I wanted to see the scene of the crime sounded morbid. I pulled out the handkerchief from my pocket.

  “Mrs. Delford lost this. I’m going to bring it back to her.”

  “Very kind of you.”

  “I’ll be out of your way, then.” As I made my escape, I saw Mr. Carrollton glance into the study like he thought I was pinching the silver. I hurried down to the kitchen.

  When I returned to the kitchen, I saw that Mrs. Albright and Mrs. Pomeroy had made enough progress on the tidying up that they had been able to spread out their tea on the table. They had already started on their cake when I arrived. “Did you find anything, dear?” Mrs. Pomeroy asked as soon as I was off the stairs.

  I wasn’t sure if any of what I’d found meant something or not. That didn’t seem very comforting, so I hedged. “Mr. Carrollton returned.”

  Mrs. Pomeroy got to her feet. “I didn’t hear the doorbell. I’d better go and see if he needs anything. Will you wait?”

  Mrs. Albright glanced at me. “No, no. We’d best be going. I’ll call on you again on your day off.”

  “Thank you for coming. And you too, Cassie.”

  The bell from the study rang, and Mrs. Pomeroy started up the stairs. I glanced at the walnut cake, but Mrs. Pomeroy hadn’t offered to let me take any with me, so I followed Mrs. Albright out to the street cake-less.

  Chapter 12

  I HAD EXPECTED THE AFTERNOON with Mrs. Pomeroy to take up more of the afternoon. Now I had several hours before tea stretching out in front of me. I’d finished all of my typing so it was a truly free afternoon. I was debating a few choices. The sale at Liberty’s was a possibility, or I could try a few bakeries in search of new cakes to try, or I could—

  “So what are your plans for the afternoon?” Mrs. Albright broke into my thoughts.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the sales with me.”

  “Sales? How can you think about sales at a time like this?”

  I wanted to say at a time like what, but I could see that she was still concerned. “I don’t see that there’s much I can do right now.”

  Mrs. Albright looked around. “But Scotland Yard is just a short ride away. Why don’t you go and talk to that nice inspector, or one of your friends there.”

  I sighed. So he was the nice inspector now, was he? It would be easier to go along with her. “All right, I’ll see if there’s anything he’ll tell me.”

  “Excellent.” Mrs. Albright followed me to the Underground station.

  With Mrs. Albright tagging along, my plan for Scotland Yard was to go into the main lobby and wait in the longest line, then after a decent interval, when Mrs. Albright had gotten bored and gone back home, I’d leave and go to the sales. I was just thinking that, if I found too many things to slip past her, I could always take a page from Miss Carrollton’s book and rent a locker at Paddington Station and leave my parcels there to be picked up later, when I realized Mrs. Albright still had no intention of leaving. “You could go on home. I can manage.”

  “Mrs. Pomeroy would feel so much better if she knew what was going on.”

  So she was feeling nosy. I hadn’
t left myself much of a choice. I waited my turn at one of the brass windows and asked for Inspector Hamilton.

  “Do you have an appointment?” asked the woman behind the cage.

  “No, but I need some information on the Ainsworth case.”

  She scribbled something on a slip of paper and put it into a pneumatic tube. “Wait over there, and I’ll call you if he’ll see you.”

  I led Mrs. Albright to the waiting area near the lift with the other people hoping to see someone without having been summoned. The best solution seemed to be for Inspector Hamilton to refuse to see me. If he wasn’t in, then Mrs. Albright would expect me to ask for one of the other inspectors I knew, none of whom would know anything about the Ainsworth case and would only be glad to have me nosing around it if it kept me out of their cases. The one outcome I hadn’t planned for was for the receptionist in the cage to call my name and tell me to proceed to the lift.

  Mrs. Albright moved to follow me, but the receptionist kept her hand on the lever that operated the gears for the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The note says to send Miss Pengear up, no one else. I have to be strict about it.”

  “I understand.” I wasn’t sure Mrs. Albright did, but she patted my arm and said, “Good luck, Cassie. I’ll have tea ready for you when you get back.”

  “Thanks.” I waited while the receptionist worked the lever and gears to open the lift doors. The boy operating the lift didn’t need to ask where I was going, just flicked some more levers, slid some gears in place, and released the car.

  I had briefly considered getting out of the lift, giving Mrs. Albright time to start out on her way home, and then slipping back downstairs without disturbing Inspector Hamilton, but Constable Fulton was waiting for me when the lift doors opened.

  “This way please, Miss.” He led me through the maze of hallways and offices and desks to Inspector Hamilton’s closet of an office. “The door is open, Miss. Just go on through.”

  Inspector Hamilton was standing behind his desk reading a file while he waited for me. He looked up when he heard the door. “Good afternoon, Miss Pengear.”

  He was being quite cordial. “Good afternoon.”

  “The note says you have some information for me.”

  “I think you read that wrong. I needed some information from you.”

  Inspector Hamilton looked at the note. “I thought they got that wrong downstairs.”

  There were several files open on Inspector Hamilton’s desk. I let my gaze drift over them, trying not to look like I was reading them. The first one I was able to read was a coroner’s report on Mr. Ainsworth. Half the page was covered, but I was able to read the summary at the top. Poisoning, died sometime between six and eleven on the twelfth. Ate salmon, various vegetables, cheese, and cucumber soup prior to death. Nothing I didn’t already know. I heard Inspector Hamilton make a small sound, almost a snort or a loud exhale, and looked up. He was watching me with a bemused smile.

  “Critiquing our medical examiner’s typing skills, I’m sure.”

  I smiled back. “Well, it does seem rather vague.”

  Inspector Hamilton followed my gaze to the file. “You mean the time of death? The study had a fire built up, so it affected the temperature of the body, and the medical examiner did not want to give a definite time of death. A pity it was such a beastly night, but can’t be helped I suppose. London weather and all.”

  “You have Ross to thank for that. He insisted Mr. Carrollton told him to light the fire in there for the arriving guests.”

  “The guests were greeted in the study?”

  “Of course not. They were in the drawing room.”

  “None the less, it did affect the body temperature.”

  “But we saw him collapse.”

  “Which is why we have a time of death, just not from this report. Now was there something you wanted to see me about, or was this an attempt to look at my files on the case?”

  I thought fast. “I found Mrs. Delford’s handkerchief, and I wanted to return it. Could I have her address?” I knew she was staying at Mr. Ainsworth’s, but it seemed to be as good an excuse as any.

  “You should know that I can’t give you any information on a witness.”

  “Well, thank you for your time.” I picked up my gloves.

  Inspector Hamilton smiled. “Did you get what you were after?”

  “I wasn’t after anything.” When he kept smiling, I added, “Mrs. Albright asked me to come.” I realized I might need to get in to see him other times, and I didn’t want any chance he would think I wanted him to refuse me then, so I gave the best version of facts that I could. “I was hoping you’d be out so I’d have an excuse not to come up.”

  He seemed to believe that mostly true story. At least his smile became less mocking. “Why did she want you to see me?”

  “Mr. Ainsworth’s funeral was today. We kept Mrs. Pomeroy company while Mr. Carrollton was gone. Mrs. Pomeroy must have worried Mrs. Albright while they were talking.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. But the kitchen was an enormous mess.”

  The mocking note was back in his smile. “And where were you while they were talking? Trying to get around the crime scene tapes?”

  I gave him my sweetest smile. “Finding Mrs. Delford’s handkerchief, of course. That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “Which I’ll bet she didn’t know she’d lost. Just remember what I said about investigating. I’d hate to see you hurt or in danger.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “What are your plans for the afternoon?”

  “Visit the sales, I think.”

  “That sounds good. I hope you find some bargains. Good afternoon. Would you like someone to show you to the lift?”

  “I can manage. Good afternoon.”

  Back on the street, I considered actually going to the sales, but I had spent so much time in Inspector Hamilton’s office, I wouldn’t have time for a proper look before the shops were crowded with secretaries and teachers on their way home. Besides, poking around Inspector Hamilton’s desk had given me the taste for investigating. There had to be something I could look into.

  Briefly I considered speaking to Mrs. Delford, but she would have been at the funeral too, and been even more affected by it than Mrs. Pomeroy. So who else?

  Mr. Sharma. He’d told Inspector Hamilton he was staying at the Prescott Guest House near Westminster. It should be easy enough to find. I went to a nearby bookshop and found a copy of the London Post Office Directory and looked up the hotel.

  Chapter 13

  THE PRESCOTT GUEST HOUSE was small and tucked between two elegant town houses. When I walked through the door, I could tell it was a converted house and the owners were trying to maintain the feeling of staying as a guest in someone’s home, presumably someone rich and well-connected. The lobby had been made out of the entryway and the front parlor combined. The clerk was sitting behind an antique desk tucked under the stairs. She was young, wearing a neat jacket and a high neck blouse with a small brooch at her neck. More of a governess than a desk clerk.

  “No luggage, Miss?” She spoke cheerfully, but she was looking me over as she spoke, judging whether or not I belonged here.

  “I came to visit one of your guests. Mr. Navin Sharma. Would you tell him I’m here?”

  “And the nature of your business?”

  I wanted to say “none of yours,” but she was still staring at me, still deciding if I belonged, just looking for an excuse to throw me out, so I searched for an answer that would pass muster if Inspector Hamilton came asking questions.

  “It has to do with the merger he is here to explore.”

  She considered what I’d said from several angles; at least, I assumed that’s what the shifting eyebrows meant. Apparently she couldn’t find fault with it since she said, “I’ll see if he’s in. You can wait in the lounge area.”

  “Thank you.” I went into the former sitting room. It had been fitted
out with all the latest inventions: steam heat in the fireplace; a steam lift crammed into what had been the hall closet in the corner; two telephone cabinets; and a desk set up with a telegraph station, although from the wires dangling under the desk, it didn’t seem to have been hooked up yet.

  I heard footsteps crossing the lobby, so I sat down quickly by the fireplace and picked up the nearest newspaper.

  It was an old lady in a grey suit and sensible shoes, with her knitting bag. I could feel her watching me, probably wondering what I was doing there. She sat down in the straight-back chair by the fireplace and pulled out a half-finished fair-isle baby sweater. Before I could decide if I should engage her in conversation, Mr. Sharma was led in by a young man.

  “Mr. Prescott-Smythe, how nice to see you.” The old lady smiled up at the young man. “Do we have a new guest in our little home away from home?”

  “Just someone to see Mr. Sharma on business, Mrs. McWade.”

  Mr. Sharma was looking at me intently. I could tell he was struggling to place me. So could Mrs. McWade. Mr. Sharma looked back and forth between us. I could see the moment he recognized me, and then the moment when he remembered where he’d seen me. “You work for Mr. Carrollton, correct?”

  “That’s right. We met at his dinner party.” I hoped Mr. Sharma was clever enough to catch the phrasing.

  He was. “Of course. When he and I discussed the merger.” He glanced at Mrs. McWade. “There’s a very nice tea shop around the corner. Would you like to join me there?”

  “It sounds lovely.” I gathered my gloves and followed him outside.

  On the street, Mr. Sharma made small talk as we walked. “It’s quite a respectable establishment, as I’m sure you can tell from Mrs. McWade. It was recommended to me by Mr. Carrollton.”