Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

He scowled. “Why aren’t you already in it?”

  “I had to check on Tante Ilse and interrogate a suspect. Will you bring me my dressing gown?” I asked Sidney, backing down the hall toward my intended target before Tim could dart around me. “And Tim, will you be a dear and please tell Freddy that Tante Ilse wishes to see him. Thank you,” I called over my shoulder.

  I was seated on the edge of the tub, pouring in a liberal dollop of rose-scented bath oil and waiting on the water to fill the tub, when my husband rapped on the door. “Come in.”

  He slipped inside, the Chinese blue satin garment held before him.

  “Thank you.” I nodded toward the hook on the back of the door. “Hang it there.”

  When he finished, he turned to stand with his back resting against the door and his arms crossed over his chest, seeming to be in no hurry to depart.

  “Anything to report?”

  “Nothing but that the coroner’s inquest will probably be Monday at the Crown, and we’ll need to attend, of course,” he replied on a weary exhale.

  I turned off the tap and bent down to unlace my half boots. “I guessed as much. Not that the police will gather much information between now and then. The verdict will be murder by person or persons unknown, with a police inquest to follow.”

  “Yes, let’s hope this inspector has more experience than Sergeant Bibby with such matters. I assume that’s why you didn’t mention the letter. You hoped the inspector would be less likely to jump to conclusions.”

  I shrugged. “It seemed . . . prudent.”

  He crossed one ankle over the other, settling in more comfortably. “Now, what’s this about interrogating a suspect? I’ve never seen your brother and sister so bug-eyed as when you made that pronouncement.”

  I looked up at him with a grimace as I toed off my boots. “Matilda.”

  “And what did she have to say?”

  I told him about her denial of any wrongdoing and her insistence she’d been here, as well as Grace’s partial confirmation.

  “So you’ll need to speak with Abbott.” His gaze tracked my movements as I removed my stockings and dropped them on the floor next to my shoes.

  “Yes, though loath as I am to admit it, I already doubt she’s the killer.”

  “Because of her loyalty to your family?”

  “I simply can’t imagine a scenario in which she would decide killing Bauer would be beneficial to our family, or more to the point, to my mother.” I tilted my head to the side. “Unless Bauer did something terrible we’re not yet aware of. But then it’s more probable she would have simply shared the matter with Mother and hoped to see the girl sacked or arrested.”

  I paused in unbuttoning my blouse, glancing up at Sidney, who seemed partially absorbed with this task. “Are you just going to stand there watching me?”

  His eyes took on a roguish glint. “You don’t mind when I do so at home?”

  “Yes, but . . . this is my parents’ house,” I finished somewhat lamely, feeling my cheeks begin to heat.

  His lips curled upward at the corners in teasing. “Your point being?”

  “I know we’re married,” I replied, lowering my voice to a whisper. “But if Mother learned of it, she would ring a peal over my head.”

  “Do you honestly think your mother would say anything?”

  I glowered. “Well, I certainly don’t want to find out.”

  He chuckled. “I take your point. I shall behave myself.” He cast me a wolfish grin as he turned to go with a parting promise. “For now.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Despite the day’s sad events, Saturday’s dinner was no more awkward and fraught than normal. Everyone acted more or less as they normally did, except for Tim, who was fidgety and absorbed in his own thoughts. I had to wonder whether it was because of the war. Whether the sight of Bauer’s body had reminded him of things he had preferred to forget. As such, I watched Sidney and Freddy for the same signs, but either they were better at concealing their distress or it hadn’t affected them to the same degree.

  Sergeant Bibby arrived shortly after dinner to interview the servants and then the family. Though by the speed with which this was done, it all seemed to be rather cursory. I didn’t hold much faith he’d uncovered anything of interest, or that he’d expected to. He was the curtest with my great-aunt, but Father’s presence seemed to quell any harsher impulses. Given the questions he was asking, I was forced to tell him about the letter Bauer had left me, but he seemed to care very little for this scrap of evidence, except that it explained how we’d come to find her so swiftly.

  Church the following morning was equally as mundane. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the stranger Tante Ilse and I had both seen the previous week—the man who might or might not be the second deserter—but he either kept well out of sight or did not make an appearance. So I spent much of our time before and after the service watching and listening, thinking I might witness a look or overhear a comment from one of my parents’ neighbors that might offer some insight as to who harbored enough hatred of Germans that they might have killed Bauer. However, no one exhibited any particularly guilty behavior or spoke ill of the dead. Of course, almost no one went out of their way to express empathy or remorse either.

  In fact, the only two members of the congregation who seemed affected were Mother’s friend, Mrs. Wild, and Cyril Bolingbroke—Grace’s beau. Cyril expressed what seemed to be heartfelt condolences to Tante Ilse. At least, heartfelt enough to earn him an invitation to Sunday dinner. I didn’t object to his display of sympathy, but I was also hesitant to be won over by it. There was something in his demeanor that wasn’t entirely natural, and I couldn’t help but think of the look in his eyes the day Grace arrived, when Bauer rode past us on her bicycle. I hadn’t thought much of it since then, but it needled me now. At the time, I’d wondered if they knew each other, and now that curiosity was sharper.

  Later that evening, I was seated before the vanity in our bedchamber, adjusting the pearls draped around my neck and contemplating how I might broach the subject with Cyril, when there was a rap on the door. I glanced at Sidney’s reflection in the mirror where he stood adjusting his bow tie and then called out for the person to enter. By the strength of the knock and the vibration of the floorboards from his approaching footsteps moments before, I knew it was my husband’s valet, Nimble.

  “Come to check on me, did you?” Sidney jested. “Don’t think the old man can tie his own tie?” As the captain of his company, he’d often been referred to semi-affectionately as the old man, no matter that he was younger than some of his men.

  “Nay, sir. Ye always do a right fine job,” Nimble replied soberly. “Better ’an I can with these ham fists.” He shifted his feet, hovering in the doorway, dithering over something. “Might I have a word?” he finally asked.

  “Of course,” Sidney replied, dropping his jovial manner. His gaze flicked toward me, and I pushed to my feet.

  “I shall give you some privacy.”

  “Nay,” he replied sharply, making me jerk to a halt. “That is, you can hear what I have to say, too.”

  I nodded, retreating back to the vanity bench.

  Nimble closed the door and then stood rubbing the back of his neck above his starched collar. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Miss Bauer spoke to me in the laundry two nights past.”

  Sidney and I shared a brief look, but did not interject.

  “I was ironin’ Cap’n Kent’s shirts when she came in with a gown for Mrs. Vischering. At first she was quiet-like, but when I asked how she was doin’, she just started talkin’.” He spoke of this almost in wonderment, but I was not surprised. Who knew how long it had been since anyone of her own class had expressed concern for her. And for all of Nimble’s size and ungainliness, there was a kindness that radiated from him she must have intuited.

  “What did she say?” Sidney prompted, sliding one arm into his black coat.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t
make all of it out, but I gathered that people haven’t been very nice to her. Here, nor anywhere. Least, not since she left home.” His gaze dipped to the floor. “I tried to be comfortin’ to her.” He flushed. “But I think she mighta taken it the wrong way.” He began to rub his neck again. “She . . . she clutched my arm and got this look in her eyes. Started tellin’ me how good I was, and askin’ questions about Mrs. Kent.”

  “Me?” I replied in some startlement.

  He nodded. “I thought maybe she wondered if you’d take her on as your lady’s maid.”

  Perhaps that explained why she wished to meet with me. But why the secrecy? She could have spoken to me about that here.

  His gaze darted to Sidney and then back to me. “But then she started askin’ about the war. About what ye did and where ye lived. She said she knew that Matilda had worked for ye for a time?” His voice lifted, as if he didn’t quite believe this, but when I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Anyway, I thought ye should know. Especially, considering . . .”

  Considering the fact she was dead.

  “Yes, thank you for telling us,” I told him, trying to get my head around this development.

  Sidney nodded, and Nimble bowed out of the room. It was some moments later when I looked up to find my husband staring at me expectantly that I realized he’d spoken.

  “Why do you think Fräulein Bauer was gathering info about you?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know.”

  I found myself reanalyzing every interaction I’d ever had with Bauer, and then wondering if I was overthinking it. Maybe she had simply been curious whether I might take her into my employ after Tante Ilse’s passing. Maybe her questions about the war had mainly been to try to better understand my opinion of Germans. But the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach also told me that might be wishful thinking.

  “Perhaps your great-aunt knows,” he suggested.

  “Perhaps,” I agreed before inhaling a bracing breath. “In any case, we’re not going to find the answer here.” I pushed to my feet, allowing my gaze to travel over his impressive physique swathed in evening attire, much as he perused the folds and curves of my russet-red gown. “Shall we?”

  He gestured for me to precede him, and we descended the stairs to join the others gathering in the drawing room. Cyril was already present, with his thick ash-brown hair liberally coated in brilliantine to restrain it, and Grace clinging to his arm. And clinging was the operative word. Not that Cyril seemed averse to her attentions, but he didn’t appear quite comfortable with them either.

  “Isn’t Cyril the sweetest?” Grace cooed, gazing up at him. “He wanted to ask me on a picnic yesterday, but he thought he shouldn’t take me away from my family so soon after my arrival.”

  “Yes, well, I thought it best. And my uncle needed me up at Long Shaw much of the day anyway.”

  “His uncle owns Long Shaw now. Purchased it from Sir Rupert’s niece and fixed it up smartly. You remember what a rubble it had become. Now it’s ever so lovely.”

  Mother sidled up beside us. “We were so sad when Sir Rupert passed. And without an heir.” She tsked. “But it’s good to see Long Shaw is now in capable hands.”

  I couldn’t tell whether the word “capable” was meant to express approval or an insult, but either way, per usual, Mother was being lavish with her faint praise.

  She slid her arm through Cyril’s on the other side. “Allow me to introduce you to Frau Vischering again,” she declared, pulling him toward the chair near the hearth, where Tante Ilse sat gazing into the flames. Firelight flickered over her features, accentuating every crook and cranny.

  “I can do that, Mother,” Grace protested.

  However, Mother turned a stern look upon her, one that compelled Grace to relinquish her hold on a bemused Cyril. “Go and greet your sister-in-law. You’ve barely spoken to her yet.”

  This was true, as Rachel had felt ill the evening before, and had missed church this morning, as well. I was relieved to see her looking better, and followed Grace over to tell her so.

  “It’s nothing,” she demurred with a glance at her husband. “Freddy suspects it’s just exhaustion. Too many late nights up with Ruthie.”

  “Which is why we have Miss Pettigrew,” Freddy groused, referencing their nanny, who also currently had charge of Ruth.

  “Yes, I know,” Rachel sniped. “But I can’t just ignore Ruthie’s cries.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s Pettigrew’s job to answer them in the middle of the night, not you. And she tells us Ruth will never learn to rest in her own bed if you’re forever rushing to pick her up.”

  I struggled not to react, feeling as if I’d stepped into the midst of a very heated battle that I should not have been privy to. Fortunately, Freddy seemed to at least have some sense of the line he’d overstepped.

  “I’m worried about you,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re running yourself ragged.”

  But Rachel was not ready yet to sheath her claws. “As if you get any more sleep than I do. You only know I’m awake because you’re up half the night pacing or roaming the countryside.”

  Grace and I exchanged a speaking look, and despite the distance in our relationship, I was grateful we seemed to have the same instinct. She looped her arm through Rachel’s, tugging her toward a pair of chairs set before the windows. “You haven’t yet told me all about Ruthie’s clever new accomplishments.”

  Meanwhile, I steered Freddy toward the sideboard, thinking he might want a glass of brandy, but he didn’t pick up the decanter.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he grumbled, cutting a glance toward where his wife and our sister now had their heads bent together talking. “I should never have mentioned Miss Pettigrew.”

  “Actually, I wasn’t.”

  His gaze returned to mine.

  “I trusted you to be quick enough to figure that out on your own.” I shifted so that I could observe everyone gathered about the room. Everyone save Tim, that was, who, as always, was last to arrive. My eyes settled on Sidney, where he stood conversing with my father. “You do realize she may be clinging to Ruth so tightly because she feels somewhat insecure when it comes to you.”

  A vee formed between Freddy’s brows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I turned my head to look him straight in the eye, unwilling to let him retreat behind a mask of confusion. “I think you do.”

  His entire frame tightened in frustration. “Everyone asks their questions, thinking they want the answers, but they really don’t. Not when what they’ve imagined is so very different from reality. Not when they have no idea . . .” He broke off, apparently reading something in my eyes. It took him a moment to speak. “But you do, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t answer that, shouldn’t answer that. And after a moment’s fraught silence, he seemed to realize this.

  He exhaled a heavy breath, and some of the tension drained from his tall frame. We stood companionably that way for a minute or two before he ventured to speak again, clueing me in to what he’d been contemplating in that time. “Does Sidney talk to you?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied honestly. “But it’s still difficult for him to do so. Even knowing that I . . .” I didn’t finish that thought. “He tries, and that’s all I can ask of him.”

  “Is it enough?”

  I turned my head to gaze at his profile, wondering how deep the strain between him and Rachel ran. “Most of the time.”

  But not all the time. The words remained unspoken, but they rang in the air between us nonetheless.

  Freddy nodded.

  Tim slid through the door then, coming to a halt beside us, just as Abbott arrived to announce that dinner was ready. All I could do was shake my head at him in fond exasperation, to which he offered me a crooked smile in return.

  At dinner I was seated next to Cyril, and I did my best to draw him out and engage him in conversation, but these attempts were met with mixed results. For if one thing was
quite clear, it was that Cyril was not entirely comfortable with me. My sister did not help matters by shooting me glares across the table. Glares that I could not comprehend, as I was doing my best to be charming and civil, despite my growing suspicion that Cyril was hiding something.

  Twice more he mentioned the fact that he’d spent the previous day with his uncle at Long Shaw—a point he had already emphasized. The very fact that he seemed so anxious that we accept this as truth had the exact opposite effect, making me wonder if he was lying. I added it to my already-growing list of queries to be answered during or following the inquest the following day.

  When Tante Ilse confessed her desire to retire early, I volunteered to be the one to help her upstairs, as eager to escape Grace’s barbed glares as I was to assist my great-aunt. Why my offer to do so should irritate my mother, I couldn’t fathom, but she reminded me and my brothers that it was to be a particularly cold night and so we would be best served to remain indoors—a thinly veiled warning for us not to drink in the stables. No matter. I was headed to bed.

  I sat with Tante Ilse on her fainting couch until the upstairs maid assigned to her since Bauer’s passing arrived. She clutched my hand between hers as she reminisced about a dinner party she’d attended some years earlier. Weary and uneasy at heart, I allowed her words to wash over me, not quite grasping the exact timing or context of her story, but appreciating it nonetheless. She had always had a knack for storytelling, and neither age nor the slips of her memory had dulled that. Not yet anyway.

  I firmly shut the door on that thought, and then looked up in surprise as a door closed across the corridor just as resolutely. I realized it must have been Grace, and the motorcar we’d heard outside the window a moment before must have belonged to Cyril.

  Tante Ilse’s hand squeezed mine, recalling my attention. “Sisters should not be at odds.”

  I smiled tightly. “Yes, well, Grace is very angry at me.” My voice dipped. “And I can’t say she doesn’t have a right to be.”

  “Yes, mein Liebchen, but that anger is only masking hurt.” Her gaze took on a faraway cast. “When my older sister, Lina, your grandmother, married your grandfather and left for England, I was . . . sad. Upset. And, yes, angry. I felt like she had abandoned me. And I refused to visit her here for many years. But later, when I was older, I better understood. She had not left me. She had merely gone on to live her life. As we all do, in time.” She tapped the top of my hand as she looked up. “Your sister will realize this in time, too. If you keep trying.”