Death by the Book

by Deering, Julianna

  They walked across the street to the inn and quickly found a table. Bell rushed over to pull out a chair for Madeline, and Drew could do nothing but stand politely aside until she was seated. He deposited his parcel of books in the unused fourth chair at the square table, and then he and Bell sat down facing each other across the board. It was the perfect arrangement for adversaries.

  Adversaries? All the man had done was pull out a chair for a lady. No doubt he would have done as much for his female cousin or maiden aunt. And let’s not forget the trifle. Trifle indeed.

  Drew covered a smile with a polite cough. He had it bad, as they said in the cinema, and there was no denying it. For him, Madeline and rational thought didn’t seem to be able to exist in the same place at the same time. Well, it didn’t mean he had to be a churlish host.

  “How’s your appetite, Bell?” Drew smiled again, and this time the smile managed to be friendly. “You’ll find the fare here plain but filling.”

  “What do you recommend? I don’t want something I can get any time when I’m back home. What says ‘Hampshire’ more than anything else I could order?”

  Drew considered for a moment. “You could always try—”

  “That’s Mr. Farthering there.”

  Hearing his name from one of the waitresses, Drew looked up and saw a lanky young man stalking toward the table.

  Drew stood. “I’m Drew Farthering. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “My name is Daniel Montford.”

  “Ah, yes. How do you do? I’m so sorry about your father.”

  Young Montford sneered at the hand Drew offered him.

  “I want you to leave my mother alone, do you understand? This business with my father has come near to killing her, and I won’t have ill-bred little weasels like you making it worse.”

  His face had gone all red and patchy and his Adam’s apple bobbed at an alarming rate. For some reason, grief seemed to make young people look younger and old people look older. Drew didn’t know why that was, but it certainly mucked about with people’s appearances and not at all kindly. He’d noticed it with the Allen girl, and Daniel Montford was no exception. He was probably no more than three or four years Drew’s junior, but just now he looked as if he should still be studying his Latin verbs and beginning algebra.

  Still, he couldn’t have had an easy time of it. Bad enough losing one’s father at all without losing the image of him at the same time. Couldn’t fault the chap for wanting to protect his mother.

  “Look here, I wouldn’t upset you or your mother for the world. And believe me, I know how you’re feeling with all this, but I am trying to help. Truly. What if you and I had a little chat. Man to man and all. What do you say? I’m sure Mrs. Burrell has a private room we could use for a few minutes.” Drew turned briefly to Madeline. “If you and Mr. Bell will excuse me, darling.”

  Madeline nodded.

  “Sure, sure,” said Bell, looking as if he were at the cinema and very much enjoying the production.

  Montford’s lip curled. “And just how would you know how I feel?”

  “There’s no good to be had from airing all this in public,” Drew said. “Come along.”

  A few words to Mrs. Burrell, and Drew and young Montford were shown into a sitting room at the back of the inn. Drew made sure to shut the door.

  “This is much cozier, don’t you think? Shall I send for some tea or something?”

  Montford’s only answer was a belligerent shake of the head.

  “All right,” Drew said. “Suppose we don’t waste time with chitchat. How about you telling me—”

  “I want to know.”

  “What?”

  “I want to know how you’d know how I feel about all this?” Montford’s voice quavered. “Was your father murdered? Was he keeping some cheap little tart on the side while telling you he wanted you to grow up to be a fine Christian man who always did the honorable thing? Did he sit there in the pew singing hymns and holding your mother’s hand as if they’d been married two weeks instead of two decades?” His eyes welled with tears, but he dashed them away. “You tell me how you know.”

  Poor fellow. It was hard enough when one’s father died peacefully in his bed. Murder was another thing entirely.

  “All right, perhaps I don’t know. Not really. But even if your father took a rather relaxed view toward his marriage vows, he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.” Drew steered the boy to a chair and sat him down. “Let’s try not to condemn anyone until we’ve found out exactly what’s happened here, shall we?”

  “Seems rather obvious to me. They had a quarrel, and she killed him.”

  “You mean the other woman.”

  “Of course she did it. Who else would?”

  Drew sat down opposite him. “Now that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said yet. And, not coincidentally, that’s precisely what I’d like to ask you. Who else do you think would want your father put out of the way? Who would profit by his death?”

  Young Montford glared at him. “The police have already accused me, so there’s no use starting that all over again.”

  Drew lifted one eyebrow. “And why would they think something like that?”

  “I came into a rather tidy inheritance, if you must know, apart from a life estate for Mother.”

  “I’d have thought you’d need to wait. Until you had reached majority.”

  Again the young man sneered. “I turned twenty-one two months ago.”

  “I see. Well, man to man then. Your mother has asked my help in finding out who killed your father. I told her I would. You wouldn’t want me to break my promise to her, would you?”

  Montford narrowed his eyes. “If you upset my mother again, if you embarrass my family, I’ll kill you, do you hear? I don’t care who knows it, I’ll kill you and hang the upshot.”

  He said it with a little tremor of emotion in his voice, a bit of youthful bluster that might have been amusing under other circumstances, but Drew did not doubt his earnestness.

  “No need for threats. The question had to be asked. Now that we’re certain who didn’t kill him, how about we consider who might have done it? So, apart from your unimpeachable self, who would have profited from your father’s death?”

  Montford managed to look human again. “Nobody really. Dad left everything to Mother and me, apart from a bit for his sister, my aunt Maude, and some remembrances for my cousins. Their part couldn’t amount to a thousand pounds as far as I’m given to understand.”

  “What about the firm? I understand the other partners wouldn’t benefit from his death?”

  “No. I suppose they may earn some extra fees taking over his current cases, but they all have more than they can see to as it is. It’ll actually be a hardship for them until they can get things sorted out.”

  “So, we’re back to you.”

  “I tell you I’ve been over this already with the police. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “Don’t you want to know what happened to your father?”

  “I believe I already do.”

  “But not for certain. Wouldn’t you rather know for certain?”

  “The police can see to things. You’re not with them. You’re not even a proper detective. It’s ridiculous to think you can do more than they. You muddled about in those murders at your company and at your house, and now you think that means you know everything. Well, it doesn’t, so just keep your nose out of this, do you hear?”

  “Your mother was the one who asked for my help. Such as it is, I promised it to her. It would be up to her to release me from that promise, and frankly, it has nothing in the world to do with you.”

  Young Montford spat out a rather choice epithet, and Drew couldn’t suppress a grin.

  “I remember several of the boys at my prep school had to write five-hundred-word essays on the proper use of language when they started flinging that one around. Of course, most ten-year-olds would rather have a sound caning t
han that sort of punishment.”

  Montford’s face reddened. “All right, clever. All right. You’re not so much older than I am.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I am. How about we both act like grown-ups then and leave the nonsense for the schoolyard?”

  Montford stood up. “Very well. I see we have nothing more to say to one another. I will speak to my mother about this, you can be sure. If she asked for your help, it was only because all this has been terrible for her and she didn’t know what to do. I’m sure she’s already thought better of it. I’m the head of the family now, and I can see to things in the future.”

  “She knows how to reach me if she needs to. I am at her service anytime.” Standing, Drew smiled and offered his hand once more. “And no hard feelings, eh?”

  Montford merely snorted his contempt and stalked out of the room.

  Drew went back to Madeline and Freddie Bell, a bemused look on his face. “Do pardon the interruption.”

  As usual, Bell grinned. “Sure. Angry cuss, wasn’t he?”

  “Perhaps a bit too angry, given the circumstances.” Drew sat down and put his napkin in his lap. “Now what have we decided on?”

  Madeline frowned. “What do you mean ‘too angry’?”

  “Oh, I don’t know really. He just seems awfully fierce. Defensive when there was really no need.”

  “You don’t think he knows something, do you?”

  “If he does, he’s not telling. Or he’s not telling me, at any rate. I’ll have to see if the chief inspector has been any more successful.”

  Bell looked at Drew. “This inspector guy, he lets you in on things? About the case, I mean.”

  Drew shrugged. “He tolerates me. I suppose, if nothing else, I’m a change from the drudgery of his regular police work. Though I expect his real feelings are more along the lines of something I read in the latest Campion mystery, a comment about no amateur jiggery-pokery ever doing anybody any good.”

  “Miss Parker told me you were the one who solved that case at your company,” Bell said. “I think that’s swell. I like to consider myself a little bit of a sleuth, too. Mind telling me how you figured it all out?”

  Six

  The meal turned out to be rather enjoyable after all. Bell insisted on hearing every detail about the incidents at Farthering Place, and then he told about his wanderings throughout the States and in Europe. A few of his tales may even have been true.

  As far as his flirting with Madeline went, Drew came to realize that it was more of a habit with the man than a personal interest, and possibly even more of a general friendliness than actual flirting. The realization that he had the same tendency himself, Madeline most definitely excepted, made the American nearly tolerable. Even so, Drew was rather relieved when lunch was over and they parted ways.

  Madeline slipped her hand into his as they walked out of the village and up the path through the meadow toward home.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever for?” Drew asked.

  “For not telling you about meeting Freddie before now.”

  “Any reason why you should?”

  “No, I don’t suppose there is, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t, either. There really wasn’t much to it. He was in the post office when I went to buy stamps. He was trying to buy some too and couldn’t figure out the money right, so I helped him.”

  “And I suppose you had a nice chat about how American money is so much simpler.”

  “Well, yes. Then we introduced ourselves, and he asked me what he should see in Farthering St. John. I happened to mention the trifle at the Rose Garden, and he asked me to go with him. We had a nice talk and that was it. To be honest, I didn’t think about him again until he showed up today. I mean, I did like talking to him, but I don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything from you.”

  “You know, even though I can’t help having murderous thoughts toward any man who looks at you, I never worry about being deceived by you. Should you, as you Americans say, decide to slip me the mitten some dreary November day, I fully expect you’ll come straight to me and tell me plainly that, though you have the fondest regard for me, you could never be truly happy with anyone but the Nubian trapeze artist you’ve lived next door to all your life and whom, until he very recently and tearfully confessed his passionate yet honorable feelings for you, you had never looked upon as more than a brother.” He sighed and spread one hand across his chest. “Though heartbroken, I could never stand in the way of your happiness.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “I think you may rival even Lord Peter Wimsey himself for talking piffle.”

  “Never underestimate the power of piffle, my girl. I expect that even the strong-minded Harriet Vane shan’t be able to resist it forever.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I’m more than halfway through the book and she shows no sign of wavering.”

  She took a firmer hold on his arm as they stepped from stone to stone in crossing the little brook that ran just below Rose Cottage. “I hope Aunt Ruth likes the lace-making book.”

  “It seems just the thing. Just don’t give her the one on women and crime by mistake.”

  Madeline put her hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. “I can’t believe you actually bought it anyway.”

  “It is a bit grim, isn’t it? I may not even read it, you know, but Mrs. Harkness seemed so eager to be rid of it.”

  “See? That’s my point exactly.” Madeline shook her head and made little tsk-tsk noises with her tongue. “You thought you were being nice and taking it off her hands, and all she was doing was giving you a sales pitch.”

  “Bah. Just for that, I’m going to read every grisly page of it and then tell you about it in minute detail just before you go to bed every night.”

  “That won’t bother me. My mind will be completely occupied with the dinner party we’re having tomorrow night. What I’ll wear, how I’ll do my hair—”

  “Which sparklingly witty comments you’ll make and to whom.”

  She bestowed on him a gracious nod. “That will certainly be something to consider, though I mostly leave that to you.”

  “Wise choice.” He sobered. “You don’t suppose it’s too soon yet, do you, darling? After all that’s happened.”

  “It’s just dinner, isn’t it? And if Aunt Ruth is going to be staying for a while, it seems only polite to have an occasion to introduce her to everyone.”

  “True. A nice, quiet dinner isn’t exactly scandalous, is it?”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  The evening of the dinner party was clear and balmy, a night that in other times would have been ideal for fireworks and a dance band. It was too soon, of course, to host the sort of gala evening for which Farthering Place had been known when Constance was alive, but a quiet dinner party for some friends would be just the thing.

  Drew straightened his tie, smoothed his hair back, and then turned as Madeline came into the parlor.

  “You’re ravishing as always.”

  She made a slight curtsy, as much as the sleek-fitting pale-blue satin of her gown would allow. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  He put his hands around her slender waist, pulling her closer to him. “Tonight would be a lovely opportunity to make a very special announcement.”

  Madeline twined her arms around his neck, her eyes glowing. “Really? You want to tell everybody I’m going back to Chicago?”

  “Ah. Point taken, darling. Point taken.” He took her arms from around his neck and bowed formally over her hand. “I ask nothing more than the honor of your company.”

  She laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “Ahem.”

  Madeline stepped away from Drew with a determined smile. “Hello, Aunt Ruth. Don’t you look nice.”

  Aunt Ruth was clad in black as always, but her gown was a watered silk with full sleeves and a sequined bodice, as tastefully fashionable as any Drew had seen that season. H
er hair was upswept, the Gibson Girl look that had been out of fashion for nearly two decades but which flattered her much more than would any of the bobbed styles that were the current rage.

  Drew smiled at her with genuine admiration. “Madeline is absolutely right, ma’am. You look charming.”

  Aunt Ruth merely snorted.

  “Oh, and before I forget, if you will both pardon me.” Drew dashed out of the room and came back a moment later with the gift-wrapped box from the boot of his car. “I saw this when I was in Winchester and thought you might like to have it.”

  The older woman took the package from him, eyeing him suspiciously. But as she undid the wrappings and lifted out the doll, the expression on her face turned to one of surprise and then softened into something more like wonder.

  “Oh, my.”

  That was all she said, but seeing the pleasure in her eyes, Drew found it more than enough.

  “How very sweet.” Madeline touched her fingers to the delicate lace that trimmed the old-fashioned satin dress. “Oh, Drew, that’s precious.”

  He gave her a hopeful, questioning glance, and she nodded in return. Then she turned to her aunt. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of him, Aunt Ruth?”

  “It was . . . it was . . . Yes.”

  Aunt Ruth gave Drew a brisk nod, not quite meeting his eyes, and then quickly busied herself with repacking the box, immediately afterwards handing it off to a maid with firm instructions to put it on her bed in the cottage. Madeline, on the other hand, beamed at Drew, and he counted the whole venture a success.

  “Oh, I say. You ladies look the very thing.” Nick breezed into the room, smiling his admiration at Madeline and her aunt. “Drew, old man, tonight we have on our hands an embarrassment of aesthetic riches.”

  “We’ll have to get you into white tie and tails one day, Nick.” Madeline adjusted the flower in the lapel of his dinner jacket. “I know Carrie would like it.”

  “I’d certainly haul out the old glad rags if she were to come back. We’d have to have a proper bash then.”

  Drew scowled. “She’s all right enough, but she’d likely bring that Muriel with her.”