Murder by Misunderstanding

by Leighann Dobbs

  Duffy pulled up in front of the quaint-looking French shop twenty minutes later, and Hazel went inside while her driver waited at the curb. A petite woman, about Hazel’s age, approached almost immediately.

  “Bonjour. Welcome to Lady Etienne’s,” the assistant said, her words heavily accented. In contrast to the luxury surrounding them, the tiny French lady was dressed in a plain brown cotton dress, her hair pinned back into a tight bun, and a tape measure slung around her neck. “How may I assist you today?”

  “Oh, I’m not here for myself.” Hazel eyed a see-through lace negligee with trepidation, heat rising in her cheeks despite her earlier bravado about being a modern woman. Deep inside, she still saw herself as a dowdy housewife who’d neglected her appearance for far too long. “I was hoping to find out some information about a purchase made by a friend of mine.”

  The woman gave her a suspicious look. “Are you with the police?”

  “No, no. Strictly asking for myself.”

  “Hmm.” The assistant harrumphed. “We are very busy. I cannot guarantee I will remember. What does your friend look like?”

  “Well, let me see.” Hazel described Doris as best she could. She’d only been to Farnsworth a handful of times and wasn’t sure even which maid was Doris. Luckily, she had a good memory and a keen mind for detail. It helped with her writing and came in handy in investigations as well. She reached back in her memory, picturing all the maids she’d seen on her trips to Farnsworth Abbey, and took a guess, knowing that Doris wasn’t any of the maids she’d seen on recent visits. “She was about my height, dark-blond hair that she usually wore back in a chignon. Medium build, late twenties. Brown eyes. She might have been wearing a maids’ uniform when she came in.”

  The woman seemed to consider this a moment, her gaze narrowed and her hands on her hips. “Yes, I do remember her. It was an unusual purchase, and she seemed very nervous that someone would see her.”

  “Yes, that sounds like Doris.” Hazel gave the woman what she hoped was a confident smile. “Do you have a receipt I could look at?”

  “Perhaps.” The woman walked behind the large wooden counter at the back of the store and rifled through a box of papers until she pulled one out and handed it to Hazel.

  She stared down at the receipt, not spotting anything out of the ordinary, just the customary numbers and totals. “What was so unusual about the purchase?”

  “The woman was very slim and tiny, not an ounce of fat on her. But she bought a pregnancy corset, the new kind that flatters the flapper styles and binds you tightly, to keep you looking slimmer longer.” The woman crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “What made it so strange, though, was her demeanor. Most women who buy these corsets still can’t wait to crow about their pregnancies, but this one was very secretive about hers. In fact, she was in such a hurry to leave, she didn’t even take her copy of the receipt.”

  Hazel left the shop even more perplexed than before. If she connected the dots and Doris had been pregnant, then that added a whole new dimension to the case, and a whole new set of reasons why one of her lovers might have wanted Doris to disappear.

  Chapter Eleven

  “She was what?” Maggie asked, eyes wide as saucers as she stirred a bowl of cake-mix.

  Hazel had summoned her three house staff members to the kitchen upon returning. Duffy had already got an earful during the journey back to Hastings Manor and had retreated to the garage to work on the Resta, he said, though Hazel suspected he just wanted some quiet time alone.

  “I’m afraid to say that all my evidence so far is pointing to your friend Doris being pregnant,” Hazel said as gently as possible, knowing it would come as a shock to Maggie, the most ardent defender of Doris’s reputation.

  “I just don’t believe it.” Maggie shook her head, the shock evident in her shaky voice and trembling hands as she plopped down into an empty seat at the table. “I mean it’s happened to a few other girls I know, but I never thought Doris would be like them…”

  Alice stood near the door, having a standoff with Dickens. Broom in hand, she watched as the cat toyed with her by sticking one paw over the threshold. As soon as she’d start to move, however, Dickens would sit back on his haunches and groom himself leisurely as if he’d done nothing wrong.

  Hazel bit back a smile. Clever boy.

  Shrewsbury sighed emphatically and scowled. “Well, this certainly adds a new level of complexity. Did someone not want the baby discovered? Could that be why Doris was killed? Surely the police must be adding potential lovers to the suspect pool.”

  “Surely.” Hazel wondered why Michael hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy. She was certain there had been an autopsy. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable talking about such a delicate subject with her. Thoughts of broaching the subject with him made her a little uncomfortable too.

  “But who would want to harm an unborn baby?” Alice said, furious, swatting at the cat with the broom once more. “It’s unconscionable.”

  “Yes, I agree.” Hazel leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, trying to wrap her head around all the new information she’d gathered that morning. “Though the pregnancy would definitely cause an issue if the father was Lord Wakefield or Thomas. I can’t imagine the scandal something like that would cause for such an old and aristocratic family.”

  “And you think they solved the issue by killing Doris and the baby?” Maggie asked.

  “I just don’t know.” Hazel tapped her fingers against her cheek as she spoke, a habit she’d developed to bring her thoughts into focus when she was plotting a new book. “Then again, maybe the killer wasn’t the father. Maybe it was someone else who was jealous of Doris for having another man’s baby. That brings us back to the spurned-lover theory. And Inspector Gibson did say Thomas and Alphonse were rumored to have argued.”

  “Wait.” Alice joined them at the table after giving Dickens a final warning look. “You said last night that Doris was going on a trip. Maybe she had both Thomas and the chauffeur as lovers and was going away with the one who fathered the baby. And maybe the other one didn’t like that idea and offed poor Doris.”

  “Two of the girls I knew who got in trouble like that had to go away because they didn’t want anyone to know.” Maggie sighed, her shoulders slumped and the bowl of cake-mix resting in her lap. “Poor, poor Doris.”

  “Back when I was young, a girl would have to go away to her sister’s or another relative’s so no one would discover her…situation.” Alice took the seat beside Hazel’s. “Couple of times, those married sisters or relatives then took the children afterward and brought them up as their own.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, I doubt it was the chauffeur then,” Hazel said. “He wouldn’t make enough for them to run away together. And I’d rule out Lord Wakefield too. A man of his stature couldn’t up and leave all his responsibilities behind. But Thomas, now that’s a different story. He would have the funds for such a trip and the freedom to do as he wanted, within reason. Though I suspect his mother wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

  Duffy walked in from outside again, taking off his black cap and running a hand through his messy hair. The breeze had picked up since they’d returned from Farnsworth Abbey and now whistled past the windows. “Still talking about the murder, I see. Well, I’d advise not ruling out Lord Wakefield just yet. Wouldn’t be the first time the lord of the manor gets a servant in a delicate way. And he lied about being at the club. Could be he was the one arguing with Doris in his study that night too, maybe about trying to buy her off to keep her silence about the pregnancy.”

  “True,” Shrewsbury said, rubbing his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “But if the motive was jealousy, I’d still advise concentrating on the two younger chaps. Makes more sense they’d be sowing their wild oats versus the older, more established Lord Wakefield. Plus, if the chauffeur was the father, then Thomas could’ve wanted him gone.”

  “Or vice versa,” Alice added.


  “I just don’t know about Thomas, though. It doesn’t add up that it would be him,” Hazel said, straightening. “Mrs. Crosby said he came running up to the third floor shortly after Doris screamed. I doubt he’d have time to push her, get back downstairs, then run up again without being seen by anyone.” She sighed and shook her head. “What I really need to do is question the chauffeur, but I can’t go back to Farnsworth Abbey again so soon without raising suspicions.”

  “Ask Inspector Gibson to go,” Alice said. “Maybe he can talk to him for you.”

  “No, I don’t want to go to the police with this until I have something more solid to show them.” Hazel stood and walked over to stand beside Duffy near the sink. “It’s all still a bit too muddled and confusing, and I do have my pride and investigative reputation to worry about. I’m a mystery novelist, after all. People expect me to know what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, I can talk to George, my under-butler friend over at the Farnsworth estate, again if you’d like, madam,” Duffy offered, twisting his hat in his hands. “Perhaps I can get the chauffeur’s timetable and take you over to meet with him when no one’s around so you can talk to him. Or, if you’d prefer I do it, I can find out when the family’s going out to dinner next time, and meet up with their driver then. Most of us chat to one another while we wait, and I’m pretty well-respected, so I should have a way in with him.”

  “That second option sounds like a better plan, madam, if you ask me,” Shrewsbury added, pushing to his feet as well. “If this other chauffeur is the killer, he’s not likely to tell you, is he? Besides, it would put you in danger to speak with him alone. If you go when other drivers are around, at least you’ll have some protection.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.” Hazel scoffed. “But I suppose you’re right. Let’s try to find out when the family will be out again and meet up with their driver then, Duffy. Though I’ll come around back with you. I’d like to question the man myself and get a feel for if he’s lying.”

  “I’ll protect her, don’t worry,” Duffy said, exchanging a look with Shrewsbury.

  “See?” She smiled at the now-glowering butler, appreciating the fact her staff was so protective of her, even if it was a bit unwarranted at the moment. “It will all be fine, I assure you. Don’t worry so much, Shrewsbury. Duffy won’t let anything happen to me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you sure this is where they are?” Hazel said, staring out at Sparrows Restaurant. Hazel hadn’t been to the restaurant in years. Not since Charles’s death. The Tudor building was homey enough, and even though Hazel enjoyed the atmosphere, she didn’t imagine it was quite up to Lady Wakefield’s exacting standards. Peering through the window, she noticed both bluebloods and blue-collar workers filling the tables—a highly unusual occurrence but one that was starting to happen more and more.

  “Yes, madam,” Duffy said, smiling at her from behind the wheel of the Sunbeam as he tipped his hat. “When I was at the pub last night, George told me both Lady Wakefield and Eugenia were lunching here today.”

  Hazel watched as the crowds bustled past them and into the entrance of the restaurant. She’d meant what she’d told Shrewsbury earlier, that Duffy would protect her. Still, with the possibility of a murderer on the loose, safety was a top concern. “You’ll stay close by, in case I need you.”

  “Of course, madam.” He tipped his hat. “Like I said, the chauffeurs smoke and have a chat while we’re waiting. I’ll be around the back of the building.” Duffy pointed around the corner of the establishment, and Hazel peeked around to see a flock of uniformed young men standing near an array of fine vehicles. “If you want to meet with them as you mentioned yesterday, I’ll stay by your side, madam, no question.”

  Her nerves said no. But her curiosity and dedication to Doris’s case said yes. “Okay, if you think it’s appropriate. Is Alphonse there?”

  “Not sure.” Duffy drove around the side of the restaurant and parked near the Wakefields’ silver Rolls-Royce. After cutting the engine, he glanced around then leaned over to whisper. “Doesn’t look like he’s here today, madam. Seems their footman, Davis, drove them today. But I happen to know he’s a fan of your books too, madam.”

  “Oh dear.” She allowed Duffy to help her out of the car then followed him over to where a dark-haired young man with tanned skin and an easy smile stood with a couple of other drivers.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce my employer and the famous mystery novelist, Mrs. Hazel Martin.” Duffy made the introductions and helped put her at ease by joking about her research and instead of writing about how the butler did it, a future book might have the chauffeur as culprit. The other two drivers wandered off, leaving them alone with Davis, the Wakefields’ temporary chauffeur.

  “I’m a big fan, Mrs. Martin,” Davis said, bowing slightly to her. “Wish I’d known you’d be here. I’d have brought a copy of your last book for you to sign.”

  Hazel chuckled, cutting through his flattery with the real reason she was there. “Such a tragedy what happened to Doris at Farnsworth Abbey.”

  “Yes, sad.” Davis exhaled a stream of smoke from his cigarette then leaned back against the Rolls, not seeming particularly upset at all about his coworker’s recent demise. “That’s the way of things, though. Life’s hard, and the world is cruel.”

  Suspicious now, Hazel tried a different angle. “Doris was seen passing notes to Alphonse Ash, the Wakefields’ regular chauffeur, while he was in the garage, and then later the two were seen arguing. I’ve been told Ash also argued with Thomas Wakefield too. Do you think perhaps Alphonse Ash was more involved with Doris’s death than he let on?”

  Beside her, Duffy tensed. She’d apparently crossed some unwritten rule of chauffeur conduct, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Hazel needed to find out what Davis knew about Alphonse’s relationship with Doris, and directness seemed the fastest route.

  The man narrowed his gaze on her but remained silent, puffing away on his cigarette.

  He might be tight lipped, but Hazel was older and had more tricks up her sleeve. If directness didn’t work, perhaps flattery would. It had won over Lady Wakefield, after all, and this man had already confessed to being a fan. Hazel smiled and took the chauffeur by the arm, leading him a short distance away from Duffy. “Tell me what you know about Doris, and I’ll share with you some of the details of my newest plot. You’ll get the scoop before anyone else.”

  “Add a shilling to the pot, and you have a deal,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. Maybe he wasn’t so charming after all. Just greedy. Still, it was a small price to pay for the truth.

  Hazel dug a coin out of her beaded black purse and handed it to him. “Were you there when Doris fell?”

  “No, I wasn’t there.” Davis snorted. “I was out driving Lord Wakefield.”

  Confused, Hazel frowned. Lord Wakefield hadn’t been at his club. “Driving him where?”

  Davis waggled his fingers for another coin, and Hazel sighed, handing him more money. Maybe she should start calling the man Midas instead of Davis. “Fine. You’ve been paid. Now tell me… where were you taking Lord Wakefield?”

  “You certainly ask a lot of questions,” he said, his gaze darting around as if he was having second thoughts about talking to her. He bit both the coins she gave him, testing the metal to be sure they weren’t counterfeits, before slipping them into his pocket. He crushed his cigarette out beneath the heel of his black leather boot and crossed his arms. “Are you working with the Old Bill or something?”

  Quick on her feet, Hazel fell back on her book as an excuse. “No, I’m not working with the police. As I said, I’m writing a new book and need to verify some information for my research. The Wakefields know I’m writing it too. In fact, there’s even going to be a dedication to the family at the front of the book.”

  Davis sighed and watched her with narrowed eyes for a moment before answering. “Fine. I suppose it’s alrigh
t, if the family knows, as you say. Lord Wakefield didn’t go to his club, like he told the Old Bill. He went to Mrs. Pommel’s house on Grove Street. Truth is, he goes there every other Thursday, though I’m not usually the one who takes him. He alternates those visits with his appointments at the club. I drive him to those too sometimes, when Alphonse is otherwise engaged. In fact, I just took him to his club the Thursday before Doris died.”

  “So he sees Mrs. Pommel?” Hazel said, still snagged on the earlier fact. The widow was known to be very generous with her attentions to various members of the aristocracy. Was Lord Wakefield having an affair with her? If so, then he’d lied about being at the club not because he’d pushed Doris out the window, but because he was visiting his widowed lover across town. She frowned at Davis. “You said you drive the family when Alphonse is otherwise engaged?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at her purse then back to her.

  Of course. She dug out a third coin and handed it to him. “And where is Alphonse today? Out driving another member of the Wakefield family somewhere?”

  “No idea, madam.” Davis shrugged. “Can tell you for a fact he isn’t driving the family anywhere anymore, though. Alphonse packed up and left Farnsworth Abbey the morning poor Doris died.”

  Distracted, Hazel allowed Duffy to escort her back to the front of the restaurant. Her mind was still whirling from what she’d just discovered about the regular chauffeur. Alphonse had to have played a part in this murder somehow, given his abrupt departure, though if he was truly gone before the fall had taken place as Davis had said, then it didn’t add up that he was the killer.