by Emily Queen
“Come along, Frederick.” By his tone, it appeared Vera’s assurance had not mollified Cecil Woolridge.
“I think I’ll walk home. I need some air,” Frederick said. “You will come straight back to the house with Wadsworth.” It wasn’t a question, but Rosemary nodded in agreement, anyway.
Perhaps it had been a bad idea to get everyone back in the same room.
“That was quite a spectacle,” Rosemary said as she slumped into a chair and kicked off her shoes. She took a long swig from her cocktail, which by now was room-temperature, and sighed.
Vera settled onto one of the other settees and mimicked her friend. “You have to admit, the expression on Mrs. Barton’s face was priceless when she burst through the doors screaming at Marjorie. I realize Mr. Barton is loaded and all, but it’s obvious Marjorie has her heart set on Teddy. Something tells me she’s put the final nail in that coffin, though.”
Rose raised an eyebrow at Vera. “Mentioning coffins probably isn’t very tasteful.”
“I think tasteful has gone out the window after tonight,” Vera replied wryly. “Though I do feel sorry for poor Mr. Cuthburt. It seems the world would be a better place if it had been Mr. Barton who died, after all.”
“It wasn’t as though Ernest Cuthburt was a pillar of virtue, Vera. He probably deserved what he got,” Mrs. Blackburn retorted matter-of-factly.
Rosemary’s ears perked, and her eyes widened slightly. “Mother!” Vera exclaimed. “It would do you well not to say such things, considering Inspector Whittington already thinks you might have had a vendetta against the dead man. What could you possibly be thinking, saying something like that?”
“Vera, dear, you worry far more than a carefree young girl such as yourself ought,” Mrs. Blackburn chided. “Do you see Inspector Whittington around? Is he skulking outside the window, listening in on our conversation? I think not. Besides, I would say the same thing to him if he asked. I have absolutely nothing to hide.”
Groaning under her breath, Rosemary attempted to pry information out of Vera’s mother, a task none too difficult what with Lorraine’s loose lips and the exorbitant number of cocktails the woman had consumed.
“Was the play he stole from you really worth him dying over?” Rosemary asked. The idea that Mrs. Blackburn could be that vindictive didn’t jibe with Rose’s opinion of her.
“The play?” Lorraine asked, surprised. “Of course not. Don’t misunderstand, it made me want to rip him to shreds—verbally, mind you, not literally.”
“Well what then, Mother?” Vera implored.
Mrs. Blackburn looked between the two as though they were daft. “Why, Ernest Cuthburt was a war profiteer. He managed to make a killing off the blood of our sons. Didn’t you know that?”
Chapter 25
Rosemary woke the next morning with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Without Vera’s comforting presence by her side, nightmares had intruded on her subconscious, and images of each of her loved ones being sent to the gallows kept her from getting a wink of decent sleep. Not that she blamed Vera for wanting to stay behind with Mrs. Blackburn. Eventually, Rose would have to return to London and go back to her cold, empty bed anyway. She sighed and readied herself for the day. A good, strong cup of tea would wake her up, she hoped, as she headed downstairs for breakfast.
Frederick was already seated, looking a little worse for the wear. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow.
“No, not really. And it doesn’t appear that you did, either, dear sister. Nightmares?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
She nodded while loading her plate with buttered toast, steaming eggs, and perfectly cooked sausage. The rest of the family trickled in, and soon they were all seated around the dining room table. An unusual hush had settled over the group, though it was clear the events of the previous evening and the murder of Ernest Cuthburt were still fresh on everyone’s mind.
“I don’t know how you’re able to withstand this pressure, Freddie, and still seem like your jolly old self,” Stella’s husband said, shaking his head in astonishment. Rose, both irritated by her brother’s ability and impressed with it at the same time, couldn’t help but agree.
He flashed them both a toothy grin, though Rose thought she may have caught a niggle of doubt under the surface.
"The evidence they have isn't enough to put me away. Several people were milling about the house, so why I would be tops on the list is beyond me. I couldn't have fired a gun with any precision given the state I was in, regardless. They'll move on and find the real killer, eventually."
“Proximity may play less of a factor than the inspector believes,” Leonard stated. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find there was a secret passage.” His observation set off a discussion about where such a passage might be concealed and who might have had access.
A lively debate ensued until Rosemary asked the maid to fetch her sketchbook and attempted to draw the house from memory. All discussion of dimensions was cut short and promptly forgotten when the doorbell rang several times in quick succession.
Moments later, the butler ushered Inspector Whittington through the dining-room door, and Rosemary felt a profound sense of deja vu. Max’s expression was similar to the one he had worn the last time he had interrupted breakfast at Woolridge House, except this time it held even more with regret and foreboding.
“Frederick Woolridge, I’m here to place you under arrest,” Max said, looking at Rosemary and then Mrs. and Mrs. Woolridge with an apology in his eyes. “For the murders of Ernest Cuthburt and Herbert Lock.”
A stunned silence followed Max’s statement, and then the room erupted into chaos.
“Oh, my heavens,” Mrs. Woolridge breathed, and then fainted into the arms of Wadsworth, who appeared surprised to have found himself in such a position. Rose was thankful for his quick reflexes but didn’t have time to worry about her mother’s latest dramatic reaction to bad news.
“Herbert Lock is dead?” she asked, stunned.
Mr. Woolridge’s voice held more emotion than Rose had ever heard it possess before, “You’ve made a mistake!”
“I sincerely hope so, but yes, Herbert Lock was found in his room at the inn. The keep found him and called us early this morning. It seems he was shot with the same gun that killed Mr. Cuthburt. Because we verified Mrs. Blackburn’s whereabouts for the time of Cuthburt’s murder, she is no longer a suspect. Frederick’s altercation with Lock last night pushed him to the front of the list.”
The Inspector turned to Frederick. “I’m afraid I will have to take you in, now. I’ll delay the inquest as long as possible, but unless some new evidence surfaces soon…”
Rose had never seen Max at a loss for words, and it made her blood run cold. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to keep from breaking down.
“The chief inspector has returned, and it is his belief that your brother murdered Mr. Cuthburt over some bad business. I’m beginning to understand why Andrew went private, Rose. The man won’t listen to reason. Unfortunately, it’s been confirmed that Frederick and Herbert had a row last night and that it turned physical. It was a gunshot wound to the head that killed him, but I can’t ignore that the two of them came to fisticuffs mere hours prior to his death. Furthermore, it seems Frederick walked home from Mrs. Blackburn’s, which gives him opportunity.”
Turning to Frederick, he said, "If there is any proof you arrived home before when this murder occurred, out with it now. I believe it might be your only hope."
Rosemary’s face went white as a sheet. “We’ll have to consult with the staff, but the house was quiet when I arrived home at approximately half past midnight. I saw a light under Frederick’s door and heard him moving around in there on my way to bed. What was the time of death?”
"Between half-past ten and half-past eleven. I'm told the party broke up at around half-past nine, which means the deceased had just enough time to get back to the inn, clean himself up,
and get ready to sleep. His nightshirt was laid out on the bed, but he had yet to don it when the killer arrived."
“Which means in all likelihood, my brother doesn’t have a solid alibi. Did anyone see you arrive home, Freddie?” she asked, looking around at everyone in the room.
Frederick shook his head, for once not looking so self-assured, and it was clear from the expressions on the rest of their family’s faces that nobody else could honestly say they were positive of the time he had arrived at Woolridge House.
Max reluctantly led Frederick to the front door, only stopping long enough for Mrs. Woolridge to wrap her arms around her son and sob uncontrollably. Her husband had to force her to let Frederick go, and Rose could tell from the look on Max’s face he deeply regretted having to be the one to cause her family more pain. The look in his eyes said it all.
“I promise all of you I’ll do whatever I can. Rosemary, I fear much of the responsibility will rest on your shoulders now. Do whatever you need to do, but keep your family and your friends around you. Stay safe, and contact me if you find out anything useful. Mr. Woolridge, Mrs. Woolridge.” He nodded to them on his way out, his head hung low.
Once the car containing Frederick had pulled out of the drive, Mrs. Woolridge lost her composure entirely and had to be escorted to her room and administered a sedative. Rose wished she could take one herself and simply wake up discovering that this whole ordeal had been one bad dream. Instead, she summoned Vera and went to work.
Chapter 26
“What makes you think she will talk to us, Rose?” Vera asked as Wadsworth pulled the town car into the driveway of a tiny cottage on one of the village side streets.
Rose swallowed hard and said, “Marjorie didn’t appear to have much respect for Herbert Lock, but she had some sort of relationship with him. What I’m counting on is that she’s now even more desperate than she was before. We both know Teddy can’t stand her; her hopes of getting her money back died with Herbert, and now the only other eligible bachelor on her radar is in jail. If it comes down to it, I believe she might, in her current condition, respond to a well-worded threat.”
Vera appraised her friend and found that although fear for her brother’s freedom and reputation roiled beneath the surface, Rose was now operating on the sheer force of determination. “You really don’t understand just how amazing you are, Rosie dear. Let’s put the screws to her; it would make us both feel better.”
It would have made Rosemary feel better, but when Marjorie opened the front door, she lost all will to brutalize the woman. The usual sparkle was gone from her eyes, and her face was puffy from crying. She held a handkerchief in one hand, her hair stood on end, and she was wearing a robe over bare feet. "Whatever do you want?" she asked, but there was no bite to the words.
Rosemary changed tacks and answered with a gentle, “May we come in, please? I realize we hardly know one another, and I’m aware that you don’t care for me particularly, but we have a common goal.”
“There is nothing you can do to help me, so why would I help you?”
“Correct me if I am mistaken, but I thought you enjoyed Frederick’s company. Have you no heart? You know he’s not Herbert’s killer.”
Vera could hold back no longer. “This is a ghastly business. Never mind, Rosie. It seems Marjorie hasn’t the wit to realize that bodies are dropping like flies, and hers might be the next one to fall. Leave her to her misery and let her fend for herself.” Taking her friend’s arm, she tried to pull Rosemary away.
“Wait.” Marjorie opened the door wide enough to allow her unwanted guests entry. With a look of triumph, Vera sailed inside to watch Marjorie crumple onto a comfortable, if threadbare chair. Seating herself on the settee opposite, Rose appraised the sparse surroundings of the cottage, noting a few framed photographs of Marjorie and two people she assumed were her mother and father.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked, unable to help herself.
Resigned, Marjorie said, “Yes. If you must know, my aunt left me this cottage when she passed. But I didn’t let you in here so you could judge me and ask a dozen questions about my personal life. My parents are dead, I have no other family to speak of anymore, and I’ve had to learn how to take care of myself. It’s left me with little patience, and you’re wearing it thin, so why don’t we just keep to the topic at hand?”
Her words had been meant to put Rosemary in her place, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit of grudging respect for the woman all the same. “All right then, why don’t you start by telling us who you think killed Mr. Cuthburt and whether you think the same person murdered Herbert.”
“I believe it’s obvious that the deaths are connected, but I don’t know who would stand to gain anything by killing Ernest Cuthburt. Of course, I didn’t know the man well, but all the interactions I’d had with him were pleasant enough. He seemed like a good egg to me.”
“Then I assume you’re unaware of his war profiteering.” Rose let the information slip out and watched Marjorie’s eyes widen with surprise.
“No, I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “But it doesn’t make the whole thing any clearer.”
“We agree,” Vera replied this time. “The point is, he could have had enemies. Mr. Barton did as well, and my guess is that he was the intended victim. I believe you might have a better idea of why he might have been targeted. I saw you arguing with him on the balcony.”
Marjorie lifted one eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. Rosemary had to admit, she was hard to shake. “You think I’m the one who tried to bump him off? All I wanted was my money back. Herbert thought getting close to Grace would help convince the Bartons to invest in his business venture. Perhaps if he’d done his research more thoroughly, they would have. Barton told him he needed to go back to square one and work up a more appealing proposal. Herbert switched tacks, and when I made it clear I was never going to be his wife, set his sights on marrying Grace for the money. I believe he planned to cut me out entirely. I had hoped that Teddy would take a shine to me and negate the whole situation, but he made it clear he wasn’t interested.” It appeared a difficult thing for Marjorie to admit, and her face bunched into a scowl. “So, I was left with no other option than to blackmail Mr. Barton.”
“Are you saying you’re the one who sent him the threatening letter?” Rose asked with bated breath.
Puzzled, Marjorie shook her head. "No, I don't know anything about any letter. I did hear Mrs. Barton accuse her husband of being involved with a woman of loose morals, but she had no idea with whom. I simply communicated to Mr. Barton that I'd give her a name if he didn't help me out of the jam Herbert had got me in. He was furious, but I thought perhaps I'd hit my mark. Then Mr. Cuthburt was murdered, and I had no choice but to bide my time. After Mrs. Barton's outburst last night, it's all out in the open, and I'm out of options. I'll lose this house, and everything else I care about."
Rose felt a tingling of pity for the woman, but it was mixed with disgust when she asked, “’What about my brother? Was he just another mark?”
Marjorie's chin wobbled, and for the first time, she appeared genuinely contrite. "No, he's not. In fact, I told Teddy the night of the party that I'd back off. I felt guilty about the blackmail attempt as soon as I’d made it, and I wanted to wash my hands of the whole thing. I know you probably don’t believe me, but that’s the truth.”
“I can’t say I’d be thrilled with the idea of you and Frederick, given the circumstances,” Rose said with an edge to her voice, “but I do know my brother is intrigued by your…charms. Unfortunately, it won’t matter if he’s convicted of two counts of murder.”
“What can I do? I don’t know who killed either of them,” Marjorie said, her eyes sliding away from Rose’s.
“But you have a suspicion, don’t you?” She prodded.
Marjorie sighed. “I know Grace threatened Herbert. She told him he’d be sorry if he continued to pursue her, and I know that her father still considered Herbert a viable s
uitor. He’d played his cards well enough to convince Mr. Barton that he was merely a novice businessman with potential. I doubt Grace took too well to her protests falling on deaf ears.”
Vera’s eye caught Rose’s, and she hung her head. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come down to that, but you might be right.” She couldn’t deny Grace Barton had the strongest motive. “We’ll take it from here, but if you want even a slim chance at getting closer to my brother, you’ll cooperate with us if it becomes necessary.”
“You have my word.”
Chapter 27
Rose instructed Wadsworth to pull up outside Mrs. Shropshire’s and practically jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop. “Madam, please, allow me to assist you,” he said as he bounded out of the driver’s seat.
“I’m fine, Wadsworth, don’t worry about me. We won’t be a minute.” She tossed the last over her shoulder as she pulled open the tearoom door.
Mrs. Shropshire stood behind the counter with one of the employees, patiently explaining how to tally the register money at the start of a shift. She looked up when Rose and Vera burst through the door and toddled over to them with curiosity in her eyes.
“What do you girls need?” she asked without preamble.
When Rose asked to use the telephone, the old woman pointed her towards an alcove adjacent to the kitchen. Rose thanked her and dialed while Vera explained what they were up to.
“We’ve got to get hold of Grace Barton immediately and see if we can find out what it is she’s been hiding. Rose wants her either cleared from suspicion or pinned to the wall. We know she has a secret, and the secret may be that she’s the murderer!”
Mrs. Shropshire’s eyebrows lifted. “Grace? I thought you had decided the poor girl was innocent.”
“We did,” Vera said, “but new information has come to light, and now there’s another body.”