Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4)

by Margaret Addison

  ‘It’s half past eight,’ she said, lifting her head and meeting his gaze. ‘Hardly early at all.’

  Really, she didn’t care a bit what the servants thought. Let them gossip amongst themselves if they wanted to. Heaven knew she had given them little enough to chatter about in the past. She would have smiled up at Bertram now, if he hadn’t looked so very worried and out of sorts. She hoped fervently that his apparent ill humour was a reflection of his concern for her wellbeing rather than the result of feeling ill at ease in her father’s palatial home.

  Of course she knew she was putting off the awful moment when she must tell all. She could hardly bear to see the look of horror, which would surely appear upon his face once she told him. She did so hope that he would rise to the occasion and not crumble, that he was the man she hoped he was.

  ‘Darling, something dreadful has happened. Now, I don’t want you to get upset. I didn’t myself when they told me. I’ve tried to be very brave, and you must be too.’

  ‘Celia, for goodness sake what’s happened?’ demanded Bertram.

  He didn’t look particularly concerned now, only irritated at her refusal to answer his question directly and succinctly. As if to illustrate the fact, he put his hands roughly upon her shoulders and pushed her away from him so that now he held her at arms’ length and could scrutinise her face. Celia found herself forced to forsake her own daydreaming. Really, the way he clung to her shoulders, it rather hurt. She winced and he immediately let her go. She massaged her injured skin with her fingers in an exaggerated fashion, and was rewarded by a mortified look on Bertram’s face.

  ‘I say, Celia, I’m awfully –’

  ‘You forget how very strong you are, darling,’ said Celia reproachfully. ‘Now, listen very carefully to what I have to say. The reason there’s a constable outside the house is because the police think I am in danger.’

  ‘In danger of what?’

  ‘Of being hurt, silly. To be precise, of being murdered.’

  ‘What?’ Bertram looked appalled.

  ‘A girl was murdered last night, and the police think the murderer mistook her for me.’

  ‘Celia, what on earth are you talking about? You’re making no sense at all. Why should anyone wish to murder you?’

  Bertram was staring at her with a look of complete puzzlement upon his face. ‘And who was this girl who got herself murdered anyway? What had she to do with you?’

  ‘Very little, as it happens. It was one of the shop assistants from that awful little dress shop we went to last night.’

  ‘The dress shop? You can’t mean Renard’s?’

  How very irritating Bertram was being, querying and questioning everything she said as if he were simple. Really, she didn’t see how she could make it any easier for him to understand.

  ‘Well, of course I do, darling. We didn’t go to any other dress shop last night, did we?’

  ‘Celia, tell me who was murdered? It was one of the shop assistants, I think you said?’

  ‘Yes, a girl called Sylvia Beckett. She was the one modelling all the clothes. A pretty little thing, if a little common.’

  ‘Celia!’

  ‘Oh, I know, darling, I’m being a little heartless, and I don’t mean to be. I think it’s the shock, that’s all. I really am so terribly frightened to think it could have been me, instead of her, I mean. I suppose that’s why I’m being so ghastly about it. Bertram?’

  ‘I … I’m sorry, it hasn’t quite sunk in.’ Bertram dropped his forehead to his hand in such a manner as to screen his eyes. ‘I think I should like to sit down, if I may, and you can explain it all to me properly.’

  ‘Of course, darling. It took me a while to digest it all myself when they initially told me about it first thing this morning. I thought it was all some sort of beastly joke. Poor old Beeswick. I think he was quite beside himself when the police telephoned him last night. The dear old thing insisted on positioning a footman outside my bedroom door and another outside my window. Have you ever heard of anything so adorable?’

  ‘Celia … You are being quite –’

  ‘Yes, I know darling, I’m being absolutely horrid or silly or both. I just don’t want to think about that poor girl, particularly after I was so beastly to her. I’m not saying that she didn’t deserve it, because she did, but if I’d known then … There now, let’s not talk any more about it until you’ve sat down and had some sweet tea. I believe that’s just the thing for shock, isn’t it? Hot tea with heaps of sugar. Or perhaps you’d prefer brandy?’

  ‘Tea will be fine,’ Bertram said firmly enough, although he allowed himself to be led into the breakfast room where Celia rang the bell for tea. He sank into one of the chairs drawn up to the table. He put his elbows on the table top, and rested his head in his hands so that the expression on his face was once again obscured from view.

  ‘Of course it is very sad,’ Celia was saying. ‘And to think we saw the poor girl only last night. Apparently, would you believe, she was killed a very short time after we left.’

  ‘Oh?’ Bertram looked up, with something akin to interest.

  ‘Yes. The police think the girl was killed sometime between returning to her dressing room after showing the last dress and that ridiculous fire breaking out. Really, I wonder whose idea it was to position that dreadful candelabra so close to the curtains. If any servant of mine did that, they’d soon find themselves without a positon. Now, what was I saying …? Oh, yes, the girl’s body was discovered in the dressing room by the proprietor shortly after all the customers had left the shop. She was looking for me apparently, the proprietor I mean, not the girl. Madame Renard hadn’t seen me leave and she was concerned that I might not know anything about the fire.’

  ‘But if it happened when you say it did,’ Bertram said, slowly and with deliberation, removing his hand from his face as he did so, ‘we would more than likely have still been in the shop when the girl was killed.’

  ‘You might be right,’ said Celia sounding rather doubtful. ‘But we would definitely have been on our way out.’

  ‘But would we?’

  ‘Really, darling, does it matter? We didn’t see anything, nothing that could help the police anyway.’

  ‘Celia, there’s something I must tell you, I –’

  ‘No!’ Celia said forcefully and so quickly, she hardly had time to draw breath.

  It was only when she saw the way Bertram flinched that she realised that she must have raised her voice. Certainly he looked quite taken aback. She looked down at her hands, and realised she was shaking. Quickly she hid them in her lap and clasped them together to try and keep them still. She must recover her equanimity.

  ‘Please,’ she said quickly, with an urgency she had not experienced before. ‘Please don’t say anything more. I don’t want to know, do you hear? I couldn’t bear it. And besides, it’s in the past. Don’t go over it, it doesn’t do any good.’

  ‘Celia, I have –’

  ‘There’s nothing either one of us can do about it. So let’s not talk about it. No good will come of it. We must look to the future. And, darling,’ she bent forward and took his hand, ‘I forgive you.’

  ‘But Celia –’

  ‘No! Don’t you understand, Bertie?’ She had risen from her seat and was now kneeling beside him. She realised she was holding his hand so tightly, she didn’t think she would ever let it go. ‘Look at me, darling. Nothing would stop me loving you. But if you tell me something now, something that you have done that is awful and despicable I won’t be able to keep it to myself, even if I want to. I’ll be obliged, you see, to tell the police everything I know. I won’t want to, of course. If I know it will do you harm, I should rather die. But I won’t be able to keep quiet about it, no matter how much I want to. You do see that, don’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yes … I suppose so.’

  Bertram spoke so quietly that she had to bend her head even more closely towards him. He looked so very deflated and miserable, tha
t she almost relented. But that would never do, it was too dangerous. Instead she squeezed his hand and was relieved when he answered by squeezing hers, if a little reluctantly.

  Reassured, Celia got up and resumed her seat. It was not a moment too soon, for the insolent footman immediately entered with the tea and for a moment or two she busied herself pouring English breakfast tea into the most delicate of porcelain cups, the clatter of teaspoons on china resounding comfortably throughout the room. It might have been the most ordinary of mornings. Bertram might have been another one of the frequent houseguests who enjoyed the Goswells’ hospitality, sitting enjoying a cup of tea after breakfast. If he had been one of the usual men of her acquaintance, they might have been about to discuss the weather or how they intended to spend the day which stretched out before them. Instead, Bertram said, as soon as the servant had departed:

  ‘I say, what makes the police think you might have been the intended victim and not the girl?’

  ‘We were wearing the same dress.’

  ‘Were you?’ Bertram sounded surprised. ‘I must say I didn’t notice.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ There was a slight chilliness to Celia’s voice. ‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t. It was only for a very short while that we were wearing the same frock. It was the last gown she came out in. Don’t you remember what she was wearing?’

  ‘I can’t say I do.’

  ‘A silver satin evening gown with lace and glass and silver beads. She wore it for a few minutes at most. I was wearing a dress in the very same material. It was similar to it in style too, but not quite as nice or as decorative. It didn’t have all the little embellishments that were on her dress.’

  ‘You looked very becoming in your dress,’ said Bertram, rather weakly. ‘I thought that the moment I saw you this evening.’

  ‘Did you really? But the girl’s dress suited her even better,’ added Celia. ‘It was much more elaborate and … well, she had the figure for it.’

  There was an awkward silence. It was only of a few moments’ duration, but it seemed nevertheless to fill the room, creating a physical gulf between them. Celia hurried on. She could not bear the thought that Bertram might be that very moment conjuring up a vision of the mannequin in his mind’s eye. She feared she would compare unfavourably in comparison. And he could almost be forgiven if he was wondering how the murderer could possibly have mistaken the two women for one another.

  ‘The girl apparently had her back to the door of the dressing room,’ she said, as if an explanation was required. ‘So it’s possible that the murderer did not see her face. Not only was she wearing the same sort of dress that I had on, if I remember correctly, the colour of her hair was a similar shade to mine.’

  ‘But even so –’ protested Bertram.

  ‘The constable told me the murderer would have been at pains to carry out the deed as quickly as possible so as not to be caught in the act.’

  ‘Well, it still seems to me highly unlikely that the murderer made a mistake,’ said Bertram. ‘If nothing else, who on earth would want to kill you, Celia?’

  ‘Lots of people I expect,’ said Celia rather flippantly. ‘I have been known to ruffle one or two feathers.’

  ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do!’ retorted Bertram.

  ‘Well, whoever would want to kill a shop girl?’ replied Celia rather haughtily. ‘But, whatever you and I might think, the police will be coming here shortly to interview me. I expect they’ll want to interview you too, what with you being there and then escorting me home afterwards.’

  ‘I say, do you really think so?’ Bertram paled.

  ‘Well of course they will, not that we have anything to tell them. We didn’t see anything that will help them with their investigations. Now, as I recollect,’ said Celia speaking slowly and deliberately, ‘the girl came out in the silver gown. Both the proprietor and I were rather taken aback as we had not expected her to do such a thing. If the truth be told, I had expressly forbidden her to wear the dress because I had chosen to wear it myself. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Bertram. You don’t understand. She had been particularly rude to me in front of everyone else and I just wanted to get my own back.’

  Celia began to pace the room as she recounted her version of events. She stopped every so often to steal a glance at Bertram to ensure that he was following her narrative. He in turn looked a little appalled, as if he found the whole business distasteful. She ignored him, having got into her stride, and went on, the words escaping from her lips until they seemed to fill the room.

  ‘The girl realised at once what she had done. I daresay she had second thoughts, because she soon turned tail and retreated to the dressing room. Do you remember?’ Bertram said nothing. He looked so dazed by it all that she wondered if he realised what she was saying. ‘I was extremely annoyed, and said as much to Madame Renard when I managed to fight my way through the audience to her. I was rather ungracious, I’m afraid. I demanded that the poor girl be sacked. You must remember my saying that? You caught my eye and looked at me reprovingly.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember doing that.’

  ‘Well, you did, darling. And you were quite right of course. Only, I couldn’t stop myself. Now … where was I? Oh, yes. The fire broke out. There was a lot of yelling and shrieking, chairs and tables toppled over and people were going in all sorts of directions to try and get out of the shop. So silly when one thinks that it was such a very little fire and so quickly put out. I lost sight of you for a few moments and then I saw you. You were with the other men beating out the fire. You looked so strong and brave that I fell in love with you all over again.’

  ‘Celia –’

  ‘Please don’t interrupt, darling, I want to go through what happened while it’s still fresh in my mind. You caught my eye and smiled. You mouthed some words to me. I think you said something to the effect that I was not to worry.’

  ‘Celia, I did no such thing.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ said Celia firmly. ‘You stayed to help put the fire out and then we decided to slip out into the street. You do remember that, don’t you?’

  ‘Celia, let me think for a moment,’ said Bertram. ‘The fire had put paid to the evening. The fashion show had as good as finished before the drape caught fire. We decided there was no need to stay. You thought it only polite to say goodbye to the proprietor, but she and her assistants had their hands full trying to calm the crowd.‘

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Celia. ‘We thought the best thing we could do in the circumstances was to leave. We didn’t wish to add to Madame Renard’s burden, did we?’

  ‘Most of the people were fearful of passing the smoking drapes and were trying to make their way out through the back of the shop. We thought it jolly silly. It was easy enough to leave the shop through the main shop door that faced the street.’

  ‘And so that is just what we did,’ said Celia almost gaily. ‘We must have been amongst the very first to leave, because when I happened to look back over my shoulder, there was a queue of people trying to leave the premises through the storeroom. It had a door that came out onto the street at the back of the shop. ‘

  ‘And so that is what we shall tell the police when they interview us?’ said Bertram.

  ‘But of course, darling. It’s the truth after all.’

  Bertram frowned and averted his gaze.

  ‘Not the whole truth,’ he mumbled, although he spoke so quietly that it was doubtful whether his companion was even aware that he had spoken. ‘We’ve omitted one or two things.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘We need to speak with you,’ said Rose quietly but briskly. ‘I suggest you may wish to take us somewhere private to have this conversation, unless of course you’d like your customers and assistants to hear what we have to say.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, please go away.’ There was no doubt now that the woman was frightened, fear tinged her voice.

  ‘You know full well wh
at we are talking about,’ said Rose speaking a little louder. ‘You were seen setting fire to one of the curtains at the fashion event held at Renard’s last night.’ The women made a gesture to protest. ‘No, please don’t try and deny it. If you do, I shall shout it out so that the whole shop can hear. I am sure your assistants would be most interested to know. Why, I must say, that customer who you were talking to just now looks rather interested in our conversation. I daresay she’d like me to speak up a little so that she can hear what I’m saying. Excuse me,’ Rose said raising her voice considerably as she addressed the woman in question, ‘would you like to –’

  ‘Shush!’ implored the proprietor. She put a hand up to her face as if she were trying to hide behind it. ‘Come into my office quickly and say whatever it is you have to say to me there, if you must. I warn you though that I shall deny everything.’

  The proprietor hurried over to the customer and made her excuses, summoning one of the shop assistants to tend to the woman’s needs. It was not lost on any of them that various sets of eyes followed their progress as they made their way to the office.

  ‘You’ve no right accusing a respectable, law abiding person like myself of anything so improper,’ began the proprietor, as soon as she had closed the door firmly behind them.

  ‘Mrs …’

  ‘Mrs Berry,’ said the proprietor.

  ‘Mrs Berry, please hear me out before you say anything,’ said Rose firmly. ‘We know full well that you set fire to the drape. There really is no use denying the fact. You were spotted doing it and I am fairly sure I know why you did it.’ The proprietor made to protest again. ‘No, please don’t try and deny it,’ Rose said quickly. ‘No good will come of it. I think I can speak truthfully when I say that, if you were to arrange to pay for the damage caused, Madame Renard is unlikely to bring any criminal charges against you. We really do have far more pressing things to concern ourselves with at the moment than a ruined curtain.’