Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

  I stood shivering in the drafty train station—the wood-burning stove in the corner not being large enough to provide much heat—and waited for the telephone to ring. I wasn’t certain how long I would have to wait, though I hoped the call would come before the arrival of my sister’s train. Circumstances being what they were, I didn’t anticipate her being particularly pleased to see me. After all, I hadn’t precisely been the most attentive and caring of sisters, and Mother had forced her to leave Everleigh Court a fortnight before the end of the term. Add to that the fact that Grace was only sixteen, and I was prepared for a very chilly if not outright antagonistic reception.

  When the telephone did ring, I picked it up immediately, flashing the stationmaster a smile through the window before Sidney distracted him once again.

  “Garsdale railway station,” I spoke into the mouthpiece.

  “What do you have for us, Lorelei?” the voice over the line asked in crisp tones, using my code name.

  I wasn’t shocked to hear Kathleen’s warm voice. For the past few months, while recuperating from an injury, Alec had been assigned as my handler. But now that he was in Ireland, they would have to find someone else trustworthy for the clandestine job, since officially I was still decommissioned. Until then it fell to Kathleen.

  “The bombing of Brigadier General Bishop’s temporary HQ in April 1918. I just spoke with witness Sergeant George Williams about it, and he claims an officer departed the HQ moments before it exploded,” I told her, rattling off the facts as succinctly as I could, and trusting she was already well-informed of the events that had come before. “I need access to the official investigation records. Specifically the name of that officer, and whether any of the other witnesses corroborated Williams’s story. As well as a list of who else was interviewed.”

  “I’ll see what we can do.”

  My breath quickened. There had been a slight hesitation in Kathleen’s voice—one that most people wouldn’t have noticed—but I knew her too well.

  She knew something. Possibly even the answers to my questions. However, she would have to get C’s permission before she shared any of it with me. It was standard procedure.

  “Of course,” I replied before giving her my parents’ telephone extension. “You can reach me there. Unless it’s something particularly sensitive,” I added at the last. “Then we might want to make alternative arrangements.”

  If Kathleen found this suggestion surprising, she didn’t say so. But perhaps she thought I was merely concerned with one of my family members eavesdropping. Instead, I was thinking of Ardmore, whom we’d suspected of tapping our telephone in London, or bribing one of the telephone operators to listen in to our conversations. It was almost certain he knew we were in Yorkshire at my parents’ home, and as such, what was to stop him from having their telephone monitored as well?

  We rang off just as the stationmaster and Sidney returned inside, and then we settled in to wait for the 4:15 train.

  However, the 4:15 came and went, and yet Grace did not disembark. At first I thought perhaps I was simply unfamiliar with my sister’s appearance and so searched the faces of the few people who had arrived at the station again. Yet, none of them were of the appropriate age or sex to be my sister. I stood on the platform, frowning as the train continued on down the line toward Carlisle.

  “Maybe she missed the train,” Sidney suggested.

  “It’s possible.”

  She might even have done so deliberately. Perhaps this was her way of foiling Mother’s insistence she return home early.

  Seeing our confused expressions, the stationmaster bustled over, fretting to himself. “Oh me, oh my. I should have thought. You were Miss Verity Townsend before you married Mr. Kent, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I replied uncertainly.

  He wrung his hands, the chain of his pocket watch clinking. “Oh, well, I do beg your pardon. I should have recalled that before now. And I suppose you’re here to collect Miss Grace Townsend.”

  “Yes,” I repeated, finding myself having to exercise great restraint not to snap at the man to get to the point.

  “I’m afraid she arrived on the 1:29 train.”

  I stiffened. “Then where is she now? Did she use the telephone to call someone to come and get her?”

  “Oh, no. There was a chap waiting here for her. Nice fellow in a pin-striped suit. Took her off in a Crossley.”

  I shared a speaking look with Sidney and then thanked him.

  “Apologies for the confusion,” he called after us as we hurried off, arm in arm.

  “Do you think it was a matter of miscommunication?” my husband asked as he opened the door of the Pierce-Arrow for me.

  “No, I do not.” If Grace was anything like me or our brothers, it was not a mistake.

  “Then . . . ?” he began as he slid into his own seat.

  “She planned this all along,” I stated with certainty, crossing my arms over my chest while anger simmered inside my veins.

  “And the chap who picked her up?”

  “Bolingbroke.” Grace’s beau whom Freddy and Tim had mentioned.

  Sidney nodded, seeming to accept this as easily as I had. But I didn’t miss the grin he was attempting to hide as he turned the electric starter.

  I scowled. “You find this amusing?”

  “Only because I can imagine you doing the exact same thing at her age.”

  My first instinct was to refute this, but after a moment’s deliberation, I had to concede he was right. That is, if the man in question had been Sidney, and I had an older sister I wished to aggravate. I wondered for a moment how serious Grace was about this Bolingbroke fellow, or if she was just that determined to thwart Mother and hurt me, as I imagined my disinterest had hurt her.

  Sidney chuckled as he pulled onto the road. “What? No argument?”

  “You’re right,” I replied evenly, my anger having cooled somewhat with these realizations.

  “What was that?” He leaned toward me, holding a hand up to his ear. “Say that again?”

  I narrowed my eyes at his teasing. “You’re correct. I only have to think back to that summer before the war, and all the mischief we got up to.” I turned my head to stare at his handsome profile. “I’m afraid I rather lost my head where you were concerned.”

  His deep blue eyes met mine, softening with some tender emotion before he turned back to the road.

  “Though I promised myself I wouldn’t,” I added in chagrin.

  His hand briefly stole into mine where it rested in my lap. “I lost my head, too, Ver.”

  “Did you?” My brow furrowed, not in criticism, but uncertainty. “I’m not so sure.”

  His gaze darted between me and the road, as if trying to decipher my tone. From the manner in which his jaw hardened, it was clear he didn’t like what I’d said. “You consider me to be an honorable gentleman, don’t you, Ver? An upstanding fellow?”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied, surprised this was his response. “Sidney, I didn’t mean to offend . . .”

  “You could even say I prided myself somewhat on that?”

  “I . . . well, yes.”

  “And yet there I was sleeping under your parents’ roof, dining at the same table as one of my closest friends, and all the while I was coaxing his sister to sneak off with me for the afternoon, to climb out her window at night and down the trellis into my arms.” His hands tightened around the driving wheel. “I had so lost my head that I ignored or was oblivious to the consequences of what would have happened had we been caught and I’d not been willing to do the honorable thing. Because there was no doubt or hesitation in my mind that I would do the honorable thing. Because it was you. And because I couldn’t stand to imagine not being with you. It was all only a matter of time.” He turned to meet my gaze, which hadn’t moved from him since he’d begun speaking. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I never wanted anyone even a fraction of the amount I wanted you. All of you.” His gaze dipped to my li
ps before returning to the road.

  I swallowed, his words resounding deep inside me in a place I’d needed to hear them.

  A short distance up the road sat a scenic pull-out, and Sidney jerked the Pierce-Arrow to a halt and set the brake before reaching for me. His mouth met mine with the same urgency I’d felt whenever he returned from the front on one of his leaves, as if he was in danger of falling and I was the only one who could steady him. An odd metaphor perhaps, for his touch always had the opposite effect on me, making me forget myself and tumble into him completely.

  Whatever the case, I kissed him with the same intensity he kissed me, knocking his hat askew and digging my fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. His lips trailed across my jaw, finding the spot behind my ear that always made me arch with pleasure, while his hands sought a way past my layers of coat and blouse. I had begun tipping over onto my back, pulling Sidney over me, when the sound of a passing motorcar recalled us to our surroundings.

  We sat gazing at each other, our breaths coming fast, our lips swollen from kisses.

  “Perhaps it’s still possible for us to lose our heads,” he quipped in a husky voice.

  I huffed out a laugh, shifting upright and smoothing my clothing back in place.

  He grinned, readjusting his hat before he released the brake.

  “At least we’re married now,” I remarked, thinking of all the times during the summer of 1914 we’d necked in Sidney’s other Pierce-Arrow—the one that had been destroyed in Belgium in July. “And I won’t have to wear high-necked blouses to hide what we’ve been doing,” I added coquettishly.

  He laughed long and hard, a sound that had always made my heart clutch with joy. Particularly as over the difficult years of the war and our reconciliation those laughs had become so rare.

  His eyes sparkled as we chatted the rest of the way to Brock House, putting me in such good spirits that I only smiled and shook my head when I saw the blue Crossley parked near the end of the drive. It was conveniently out of sight of the house behind the trees, but impossible for me and Sidney to miss. The doors opened as Sidney slowed the Pierce-Arrow, drawing up beside it, giving me a strong suspicion just precisely what my sister was about.

  I had last seen Grace when she was eleven years old, so the young lady who emerged from the passenger side was a bit of a surprise. She was tall and slim like our mother, and a twist of rich brown hair rested against the nape of her neck beneath the broad brim of her hat. She was beautiful, with smooth, creamy skin, and Cupid’s bow lips, but I’d expected nothing less. Her green eyes when she lifted them were cool and composed, but I suspected they barely obscured a wealth of emotions snapping underneath. After all, she was young and inexperienced. She hadn’t yet mastered the art of concealment. With the slightest prod, they would spring forth.

  A suspicion that proved true when Cyril Bolingbroke stepped forward, his mobile face creased with anxiety. “I do beg your pardon. I had no idea you were meant to fetch Miss Townsend from the train station until just now when she told me.”

  Grace’s mouth tightened into a moue and her eyes flashed, clearly displeased with his sacrificing her to save his own skin. I had to admit, I was none too impressed myself. I couldn’t imagine Sidney ever having tattled on me like that, even if he’d been irritated by my roping him into such a deception, which was doubtful. He was more likely to have been amused by it all.

  I supposed he was a handsome enough chap. He was as tall as Sidney, if not more, and possessed of a head full of thick ash-brown hair, which riffled in the wind since he’d left his hat in the car. However, he had a weak chin and a skittish nature. But perhaps that was merely because of the circumstances.

  I opened my door, stepping out to speak with him rather than hollering through Sidney’s lowered window. “Of course, but why are you sitting here? Why don’t you motor on down the drive and join us for tea?” I queried, already knowing full well the reason why. Something Grace also anticipated I was aware of, for her flashing eyes shifted to me and then narrowed.

  “Oh, well. But Miss Townsend said it would be better today if it were just family,” he stammered, glancing over the hood of his Crossley at her.

  “Did she?” I murmured, feeling the devilish impulse to continue taunting them both, particularly as she was roping us into her deception, and without the least amount of the grace her name would imply. “I shall have to convey your kindness to our mother.”

  Grace’s chin came up slightly at this comment. “Mother is already aware of Cyril’s incredible kindness. It is one of his many exemplary traits.”

  Under other circumstances my sister’s prim voice might have grated on my nerves, but just then I happened to find it comical. She was skating a thin edge, and yet she couldn’t rein in her resentment of me even for her own good.

  “Well, then, come greet me properly, sis,” I dared her.

  She rounded the bonnet of the Crossley, those green eyes of hers, so like my own, glinting like hard jewels in the ebbing light of the afternoon. “Welcome home, Verity,” she declared once she stood before me. “We have greatly missed you.” Her tone was sarcastic and slicing, but I did not fault her that.

  “You are lovely, Grace,” I replied with sincerity, though I couldn’t help tweaking her nose just once more. “And you’ve mastered Mother’s cutting tone. I suspect that comes in handy at school.” I turned to offer her beau my hand. “And you must be Mr. Bolingbroke.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Pleased to meet you.” He shifted toward Sidney. “And your husband. I’ve seen your pictures in all the newspapers. Congratulations on your Victoria Cross.”

  “Thank you,” Sidney said flatly, as always unhappy with the reminder. Though normally such felicitations came from civilians and not former soldiers.

  But Cyril had served. Surely he understood how conflicted many men felt about the awards they received, how undeserving they believed themselves to be.

  I remembered then what my brothers had said about his Blighty wound, and my gaze dipped to his left hand covered in a glove. I wondered again at the scorn I’d heard in their voices. Had Bolingbroke injured himself purposely in order to be sent home, or was his wound legitimate, and yet he had to live with the derision and questioning of people who believed otherwise? Either might make you anxious around a man like Sidney, who had been lauded so widely as a war hero.

  My regard softened toward him as he turned to extract Grace’s case from his motorcar and pass it to Sidney. However, from my sister’s sharp expression, she seemed to think my scrutiny of her beau meant something less complimentary. I did not attempt to disabuse her of that notion. Not then, in any case. For I couldn’t do so without alerting Cyril to my thoughts. But I prompted her in a far gentler voice than I might have, “Shall we?”

  She brushed past me to say her goodbyes to Cyril, arching up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smiled down into Grace’s upturned face, and her eyes softened with affection. However, his ease vanished when he lifted his head, replaced with something that looked very much like trepidation.

  I turned, trying to understand what had caused such a drastic change in him, and was surprised to see Bauer pedaling by on one of the bicycles before she turned down the rutted track that led around the back way to the barns. Given his reaction to her, I couldn’t help but wonder if they knew each other.

  Grace whirled away, stepping forward to greet Sidney as he held the car door open for her. But Cyril still stood stiffly in place, and when his eyes shifted to meet mine, finding me watching him, spots of color rose into his cheeks. He nodded his head once to me and then slid behind the wheel of his Crossley while I retreated to the Pierce-Arrow.

  But not before allowing my gaze to trail over the trees to the west of the drive as I hadn’t done since our arrival. I knew the sight that sooner or later I would need to face stood too deep in the woods for me to see from this vantage, but I still feared being confronted with it until I was ready. Shaking my he
ad at my foolishness, I climbed into the car.

  An uncomfortable silence reigned as Sidney accelerated up the drive, one that I waited for Grace to break. After all, this was her ruse. But when we passed over the little stone bridge, the stream below swelled with water, and still she hadn’t spoken, I broke it for her.

  “I suppose you expect us to carry on with this charade and pretend we collected you from the train station as planned.” I looked over my shoulder to find her glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Do as you wish,” she retorted. “You always have.”

  I heaved an exasperated sigh, gazing heavenward. This was what I remembered about having a sister seven years younger. How bloody infuriating she could be. She was only repeating what Mother had said to me or about me a hundred times, but it irked me that she’d accepted it as truth when she knew no such thing.

  “I never took you for a quitter.”

  Her head snapped around just as I’d known it would.

  “You expended all this energy to pull off your scheme, and now at the very end, you’re going to give up just to spite me?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but I wasn’t finished.

  “You can be angry with me all you want, Grace. I undoubtedly deserve it. But don’t play the martyr.” I turned away. “And be certain you know of what you speak.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she continued to glare at me even when Sidney pulled to a halt before the house. Ignoring her, I opened my door to the sound of Tabitha’s cheerful barking. I rubbed her ears, fussing over her a moment before she scrambled around the motorcar to give Sidney and Grace the same exuberant welcome.

  Having followed steadily behind the happy collie, Father moved forward to greet Grace, accepting her proffered kiss on his cheek, and asking about the comfort of her journey. Then he turned to me and Sidney. “Any trouble?”

  My sister’s gaze met mine over the roof of the motorcar, silently awaiting my pronouncement.

  “No. None at all,” I answered with a forced smile.

  There was a watchfulness in Father’s eyes that made me wonder if he knew more than he was letting on. Perhaps he’d seen Cyril’s motorcar parked at the end of the drive. Or maybe he was simply attuned to the tension between his daughters. Either way, he merely nodded in acceptance.