Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

  “But now, here’s his proof that the Germans are coming for us, after all,” Freddy bit out.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Father stared into the flames of the hearth as if it held answers. “I knew about some of Hardcastle’s ideas. Metcalfe even asked me to speak with him.”

  “Did you?” Tim asked.

  “Yes, and it seemed obvious to me that those statutes were his way of staving off the guilt he felt for not being allowed to fight because of his health. He knew perfectly well that his seat on the parish council had been given to him out of pity. I warned everyone he would. That no matter their good intentions, it would make his feelings of ineptitude worse.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose, in a way, he saw passing those statutes as his fight. His way of defeating the Germans. And now that a German maid has been killed after she was seen speaking with an unknown German man, he sees it as vindication that he was right.”

  There was a rap on the drawing room door, followed by the entrance of Abbott.

  “Pardon me. This just arrived for Dr. Townsend.”

  We all waited tensely for Freddy to read it, his face creasing into a deep frown. Seated beside him, Rachel remained turned away, her eyes trained on the same spot across the room where they had been focused before the message’s arrival.

  “Speak of the devil,” he remarked as the door closed behind the butler. His gaze lifted to Violet. “Did Hardcastle take part in the search?”

  “I presume so,” she replied.

  “Well, his mother claims he’s nearly at death’s door.”

  Which could mean anything, given Mrs. Hardcastle’s hypochondria and excessive use of hyperbole.

  He folded the missive in sharp movements. “I’m not surprised his asthma is acting up if he’s been tramping through meadows and in and out of field barns. I wasn’t pleased to see him at the inquest this morning either, given the fact that smoke exacerbates his condition, but what do I know,” he practically growled. “I’d best collect my medical bag and be off.” He turned to drop a kiss on Rachel’s temple. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  I sat forward in my seat. “May I come with you? To speak with Isaac,” I clarified as everyone turned to me in astonished silence. “We need to know if he knows anything more about Fräulein Beck—” I corrected myself. “Bauer’s death that he hasn’t already told us, or if he’s merely taking advantage of the situation.” I turned to Violet. “For instance, did you tell him that you’d seen Bauer speaking with a strange man outside the chemist?”

  “No, but . . .” She inhaled as if regretting she must continue. “You aren’t the only person I mentioned it to.”

  This didn’t entirely surprise me. After all, I hadn’t insisted Violet keep the matter to herself. But it wasn’t reassuring either. Regardless, I elected not to dwell on it when I had a point to make. “I couldn’t help but find it odd when he mentioned it this morning. Just as I found it odd that he was so certain the man was German. But when you described their meeting, Violet, it was furtive and done in shadow. You couldn’t hear their voices.”

  “That’s true.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But maybe they met there more than once.”

  “Yes, that’s possible. But it will be easier to judge once I’ve questioned Isaac about it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Freddy said in a stern voice. “If Isaac is having one of his asthma attacks, he won’t be able to answer you anyway. And Mrs. Hardcastle is likely to object to your presence in his bedchamber.”

  “She won’t if you tell her you require my assistance.”

  He scowled blackly. “I’m not going to lie. No, Pip, it simply won’t do.”

  I clenched my hands in frustration.

  “But . . . I’ll see what I can find out myself.”

  Rachel opened her mouth as if she wanted to object to this, but then snapped it shut again. Her already-furrowed brow lowered farther.

  Recognizing I was not going to win this dispute, and that perhaps doing so would compromise my brother’s professional integrity, I acceded. “Thank you.”

  He strode from the room with a sharp nod.

  Father rose to his feet, tugging downward on his coat. “Meanwhile, the rest of us will begin our own search of the Townsend property and the surrounding hills at first light. With any luck, we’ll find this fellow before the others do and prevent them from doing anything rash.” He bid us all a good-night, and followed after Freddy.

  “I should be going as well,” Violet murmured with a regretful smile.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” I said, looping my arm through hers. “I do hope your father won’t suffer too much for today’s activities.”

  “Well, if he does, it will serve him right. Of all the nonsense. He knows better.”

  Abbott tactfully withdrew, allowing us some privacy in the vestibule as Violet adjusted her driving gloves. One glance at the window showed me that a gentle snow had begun to fall.

  “You’re all right to drive?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she replied with a light laugh. “I drove in much worse conditions than this in France.”

  I smiled, not having really doubted her, but it had been the polite thing to ask. With her garments settled, I expected her to buss my cheek and go, but instead she stood for a moment, her amber eyes searching mine.

  “Is this what it’s like, then? Investigating murders.”

  I tilted my head quizzically, uncertain exactly what she meant.

  “Questioning everyone around you. Wondering if they’re lying, if they’re telling the truth. Wondering if they’re capable of taking another person’s life.”

  “At times,” I hedged, not really knowing how to answer.

  The corners of her mouth curled upward in an empathetic smile. “It must be weary on the soul.”

  “No more so than the war,” I answered before I could think.

  But she nodded, seeming to accept my meaning as a general statement on the entire conflict rather than the slipup I momentarily feared it to be.

  We said our farewells, and I watched through the window as she crossed the courtyard toward where her motorcar waited on the other side of the gate, leaving footprints through the dusting of snow. I spared a moment’s worry for the German man, hoping he’d found somewhere safe to weather the night. If the snow continued to fall, then it could hinder the morning’s search. Or help us, if the German left footprints. But of course, anything that helped us would also help the other villagers.

  I turned as Rachel stepped into the entry, crossing toward the billiards room and the door that opened out onto the covered walkway that led to the cottage. If she was aware of my and Freddy’s very vocal argument earlier that afternoon over my interference in their marriage, she hadn’t shown it. Though she must have noted the tension between us. What was clear was that she hadn’t forgiven me for my remarks to her in the courtyard, despite my good intentions.

  Perhaps I should have offered her another apology, but after everything that had occurred that day, I decided that was something I was not equal to. Not when Rachel looked at me with such frosty eyes.

  “Goodnight,” she said in clipped tones, and I bid her the same.

  Civil I could be, but until I understood what my sister-in-law wanted from me, I would offer no more. Such a bridge had to be built in both directions, and I was tired of trying to judge the angle of hers only to have it shift.

  CHAPTER 26

  I returned to the drawing room expecting to find that everyone except Sidney had wandered off, but Tim stood by the window, parting the drapes to peer out. At my appearance, he dropped them and whirled about.

  “Miss Capshaw is off?”

  “Yes,” I replied, stumbling to a stop at the anxious energy that appeared to radiate from him. I looked at Sidney, seated a short distance away, noting that one corner of his mouth was crooked wryly.

  Tim cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. “I w
ondered . . . if I might have a word. Will you shut the door?”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied, doing so.

  I expected I knew what was coming. After all, our last conversation had not been the most amenable, and Tim had certainly ended it looking like a great heel. Accordingly, my brother’s opening line didn’t disappoint.

  “I wondered, that is, I mean, you won’t say anything to Father and Mother about Fräulein Bauer, will you?” He moved closer to where I’d perched next to Sidney on one of the oatmeal damask sofas. “It’s just, I don’t want them to . . . They needn’t know about it. Right?”

  I appreciated the reasons he didn’t wish our parents to know, but the fact that he’d led with that, proving it his chief concern rather than his regret over what he’d done, did not endear him to me. Perhaps that was obvious from my expression, for Tim sank down on the sofa opposite, leaning forward in appeal.

  “I mean, I’m dashed sorry about what happened to her. As you can imagine, it was quite a shock seeing her lying there like that, especially after”—he fumbled for his words—“what happened between us. And I know I should have exercised restraint. I treated her shoddily, I did.” His gaze dipped to the rug beneath his feet. “But it’s different since the war. Everything seems so . . . dull. Flat.” His entire face scrunched, almost in pain, at not being able to find the right words to convey what he wanted to say. “When something comes along that jars you out of that reality, something that doesn’t make everything seem so pointless, it’s difficult to turn away from it.” He lifted his somber eyes to study what effect this confession had on us. “You think that makes little sense, I’m sure . . .”

  “Actually it makes perfect sense,” I replied, and then reached for Sidney’s hand. “Why do you think we launched ourselves into the London social season and all those murder inquiries with such fervor?”

  His chin lifted, and he seemed to study us with new eyes.

  “Your feelings are not unique,” I told him. “But out here on the Dales you have no way to divert yourself. Freddy has his patients, as well as helping Father to manage the estate, and a wife and child to care for. But you have no claims on your time, no responsibilities. Not really.” I crossed one leg over the other, warming to the topic. “What you need is an occupation. Something to not only occupy your time, but also your thoughts.” I knew this had also been Father’s council, but I wondered if mentioning that might actually hurt my argument rather than help it. “Why didn’t you enroll at Oxford this autumn?”

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I wasn’t ready and . . .”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Mother didn’t want you to go?”

  His grimace was answer enough.

  “Then, have you thought about enrolling somewhere in January?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what about a hobby? Or a trade that doesn’t require a university degree? It doesn’t have to be elaborate. It could be anything from training horses to writing poetry to building birdhouses. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it interests you.”

  His mouth clamped shut as he turned to stare into the crackling fireplace.

  “Tim, I don’t care what it is you choose,” I added gently. “But you can’t just continue to wander aimlessly through life. That won’t help you.”

  “But what if what you want to do is forbidden to you? What if it’s simply not possible?”

  My heart stilled at the frustration and desolation in his voice, knowing he wasn’t speaking hypothetically. I wondered what he could possibly be referring to. One look at Sidney told me he had a suspicion, but I was completely in the dark. “Like what?”

  When his jaw hardened, I thought he would refuse to answer.

  But then Sidney stepped in. “It’s aeroplanes, isn’t it?”

  Tim’s gaze flew to his. “How did you . . . ?”

  “The interest you took in my Pierce-Arrow’s engine,” he replied in answer to his unfinished question. “The way you watched that Sopwith that flew overhead on our walk and all the specifications you were able to rattle off about it. It’s clear you’re mechanically minded, and what else could possibly be forbidden to you but aeroplanes. Because of Rob.”

  Because he’d been shot down over France in an aeroplane.

  I stared at my younger brother, waiting for him to speak and trying to pretend my stomach hadn’t hollowed with dread.

  Tim’s hands clenched into fists, as if he was struggling to control some equally strong emotion. “I wanted to join the RAF when I came of age. But after Rob, well, Mother forbade it. I could have disobeyed. I could have joined anyway.” He shook his head. “But I couldn’t do that to her. So to the army I went. And into the trenches.” His lips peeled back from his teeth as if flinching at the bitter taste of those memories. “She hates them, you know. Aeroplanes. Calls them ‘infernal contraptions.’ If I told her I wanted to fly them, if I admitted that, I know what it would do to her.”

  I did know, for I felt a sharp swell of panic just at the thought of him going up in one, and I was only his sister. How much more so must it terrify our mother?

  But I had also seen the look in Tim’s eye when he had watched that aeroplane on our ramble. I had seen the sparkle of wonderment, of longing, and I had not been unaffected. I should have realized sooner, as Sidney had, where Tim’s interests lay. If flying aeroplanes was what he wanted, if it was what would help him heal, then it would be wrong to stand in his way.

  Not that Mother would see it that way. After all, she had a determined penchant for trying to bend her children’s will to match her own. This was one reason why she and I had so often clashed. I was not content to do what I was told, to stay firmly in my appointed place. I had always kicked against her traces. So seeing one of my siblings stifled and constrained by them made me want to slice the ribbons myself.

  I inhaled deeply. Perhaps in this instance there was no need to be so drastic.

  “Must you fly them?”

  Tim looked up at this query.

  “Would you be content studying and designing them? At least, at first. Surely Mother wouldn’t object so much to that. To your efforts to make the ‘infernal contraptions’ safer and more efficient for other flyboys. Then, in time, perhaps you could work Mother around to the idea of your going up.”

  Tim seemed to be much struck by this idea. His eyes brightened and his rigid posture softened, while his mind seemed to turn over the suggestion.

  “I’m sure Goldy could offer him some advice, don’t you think?” I said to Sidney.

  “Goldy is Captain Fitzwilliam Goldwater, lately of the RAF. His family owns an aviation company . . .”

  “I know who you mean,” Tim interrupted excitedly. His gaze darted between us. “Do you really think he’d speak with me?”

  “I’m sure he’d be glad to. He could tell you what steps you need to take. What qualifications they’re looking for.” A smile hovered at the edges of Sidney’s lips as he witnessed Tim’s sudden enthusiasm. For my part, I was fighting to withhold a far more watery emotion. “Shall I give him a ring?” he offered.

  “Yes, please do!”

  Sidney nodded, glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Tomorrow, then. I imagine he’s at Grafton Galleries with Etta at the moment.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Tim leapt to his feet to leave, and then swung back around. “And about our earlier conversation, you won’t . . .”

  “I won’t say anything to Father and Mother,” I assured him. Not when it would do nothing but cause further pain and disappointment.

  “Thanks, Pip.”

  I shrugged one shoulder, brushing this expression of gratitude aside.

  Sidney waited until Tim had disappeared through the doorway to speak. “You’re still meddling.”

  My instinct was to take umbrage at this remark, especially considering the row between me and Freddy earlier that day over the very same subject. But I caught the teasing glint in his eyes in time to s
tifle my rebuke.

  “Yes, well, can you honestly say I was wrong to do so this time?”

  “No. Every brother should have a sister so concerned for his happiness.” A tiny furrow formed between his eyes, which told me he was thinking of his own largely absent and self-absorbed sister. Not that I could claim I’d been much more than that to my own siblings in the past five years. But then it was smoothed away as he draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to his side.

  I allowed my head to rest against him for a moment, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his presence. As always, he smelled of the bay rum in his aftershave, the pomade in his hair, and the spicy smoke of his Turkish cigarettes. The weight of all the day’s revelations already seemed heavy, and yet I felt certain there was more to come. That is, if Freddy could calm Isaac’s breathing enough to convince him to speak. I considered closing my eyes just for a short while, but first there was one more thing to be done.

  “I should look in on Tante Ilse,” I murmured, though I made no effort to actually do so.

  “Stay,” Sidney urged, tightening his arm around me. “I heard your Father assisting her up the stairs some time ago. She’s probably already in bed.”

  I realized then that the piano had been silent for some time. Sighing wearily, I allowed my eyes to drift shut as I lifted my hand to his chest to feel the reassuring beat of his heart. After Sidney’s brush with near death, I’d found myself doing so whenever I was apprehensive or overwhelmed. I supposed because that steady beat muffled by skin and bone and muscle had proven to be so vital to my own well-being and happiness.

  He brushed aside the hair at my temple, pressing his lips to my skin. “Why don’t you go on up to bed and let me wait up for Freddy?”

  I shook my head against his shoulder. “No, I’ll be fine. I want to hear what he says.”

  He exhaled a frustrated breath, but relented, perhaps correctly apprehending he would never convince me.

  I don’t know how long I dozed that way, but when I stirred I became aware of the sound of voices. One was felt as much as heard, rumbling from Sidney’s chest beneath my ear. I blinked open my eyes to discover Freddy had not only returned, but that he was seated on the sofa opposite with a glass of whisky cradled between his palms. Both men fell silent, watching me as I rubbed the bleariness from my eyes.