Murder by Misunderstanding

by Leighann Dobbs

  Hazel bit her lips to hide her smile. He was always so formal, it was hard to picture her stuffy butler with his ear pressed to the wall, eavesdropping. “You did, did you?”

  “Yes, madam.” He frowned and clasped his hands behind his back, his black uniform and white shirt pristine as always. “Not due to listening, mind you. I was busy in the wine cellar, and voices carry down the pipes.” She had her suspicions he wasn’t being entirely honest with her—especially given the fact her Charles used to rave about the man’s spying skills—but she refrained from saying so. Shrewsbury seemed uncharacteristically talkative tonight, and she wanted to take advantage of such a rare event by listening. “I might be able to assist you in getting information from the Wakefields’ chauffeur, Alphonse Ash, ma’am.”

  “Really? How?”

  “I have ways that are faster and”—he cleared his throat, fisting his hands at his sides—“more effective than the police.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. She adjusted the basket on her arm and narrowed her gaze. She’d always suspected there was more to her butler than met the eye, but she’d never imagined he had skills in boxing as well. And yes, she was heading over to talk to Inspector Gibson—Michael—again, but it couldn’t hurt to have the butler put out feelers as well. “Fine, Shrewsbury. Do your best.”

  She took the burgundy cloche hat he handed her and slid it into place over her hair, checking her appearance in the mirror before heading outside, where Duffy waited with the Sunbeam. Going to see Michael now was good. She’d promised to fill the Inspector in on whatever she learned during her investigations, plus she wanted to maintain that relationship for future cases. The last thing she wanted was for Gibson to think she was holding back clues.

  Twenty minutes later, Duffy pulled up in front of Michael’s flat again, and this time Hazel had no hesitancy as she walked to the front door. The same landlady answered and let her in, and she quickly made it up to Michael’s door. He answered on her first knock.

  “Hazel, so good to see you again.” He gestured for her to come in, his gaze snagging on the basket over her arm. “What brings you here today?”

  “Alice made an extra batch of strawberry jam tarts.” She held up the basket then set it on his kitchen table, noticing once more how clean and tidy everything was. “So I thought I’d bring some over to you. And perhaps we could discuss the case some more.”

  “Perfect.” He pulled back the gingham fabric covering the goodies and inhaled. The rich berry smell surrounded Hazel too, and she was glad she’d had two of the tarts herself before coming to his flat. Otherwise she might’ve had to partake of his stash of goodies. “I always love Alice’s baking.” Michael smiled, and Hazel’s toes curled just a bit in her pretty red shoes. “But where’s Dickens? I thought we agreed you’d bring him along the next time you came.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. She’d forgotten about the cat in her haste to get here and discuss Doris’s case. “Well, he was napping in his favorite chair, and I didn’t want to disturb him. He’s quite content now that Alice serves him a bowl of cream in our kitchen each day.”

  “Ah, well, I can’t say I blame him then. I’d be in heaven too if a woman pampered me that way. Would you like some tea?” he asked, shuffling his feet, things between them feeling a bit awkward now. “ A great accompaniment to the tarts.”

  “Tea would be lovely, thank you. But no tarts for me. I’ve already had mine before I came.” She gave him a small smile then headed into his living room, where yet another fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. She’d always imagined bachelors weren’t quite so careful with their surroundings, but Michael seemed to have a place for everything. She liked that. Hazel took a seat on a Victorian chair and crossed her ankles, her hands clasped in her lap. “I’ve, um, got some new information on the case.”

  “Oh?” Michael leaned his head around the door to the kitchen. “Please tell me. I can hear you in here.”

  “Alright.” Talking about Doris’s pregnancy with a single man hardly seemed polite, even if Michael already knew. Call her old-fashioned, but she just couldn’t do it in mixed company. So, instead, she said, “Turns out Lord Wakefield really did have an alibi. He was at Grove Street with Mrs. Pommel, at least according to their temporary chauffeur.”

  “Yes,” Michael said, carrying in a tray holding a small teapot, cups and saucers, two plates with a tart each, forks, spoons, and napkins. He set it all out on a low table between them then took a seat across from Hazel while she poured their tea. “He came clean to us about that too finally, once we started digging deeper into Doris’s death. I’ve confirmed he was at Grove Street at the time of the murder.”

  “Hmm,” she said as she stirred sugar into her tea. “I also believe Eugenia Wakefield knows more about what happened than she’s letting on.”

  “Agreed.” Michael bit into his tart then sighed with pleasure. “I haven’t been able to question her yet, though. She’s not technically a suspect, and that mother of hers hovers around her like a protective Pekingese.”

  Hazel chuckled at the apt description.

  Michael swallowed another mouthful of tart then wiped his mouth before continuing. “I’m guessing whatever Eugenia knows has something to do with Doris and her brother, Thomas. There’ve been several witnesses reporting the two of them being seen together outside of the family residence. Though if they were involved romantically, it hardly makes sense to me that Thomas would kill her, unless they had some sort of fight.”

  “Yes. I find the disappearance of their regular chauffeur troubling as well. Seems Alphonse Ash disappeared before Doris died. And all of this after the argument Betsy, the Wakefields’ maid, overheard between Thomas and Alphonse. I’ve heard Doris also fought with the man.”

  “I wonder how that ties in to the rest.” Michael polished off the last piece of his tart, while Hazel’s still sat untouched. “Are you sure you’re not going to eat yours?”

  “Oh, no. Honestly, I filled up on them back at Hastings Manor. Please keep it for yourself for later.” Hazel smiled. “Perhaps you should look into where this chauffeur might have gone after he left Farnsworth Abbey.”

  “Yes, I think I should.”

  Hazel watched him over the rim of her cup as he cleared away the rest of the dishes and took them back to the kitchen. “So we know that Doris was going away on a trip. Maybe whoever killed her didn’t want her to leave.”

  “Or,” Michael said, returning to the living room to take his seat once more, “they didn’t know she was leaving and wanted to silence her about something. If she had information to blackmail someone with, someone in a position to lose a lot if she talked, they might not want to have that hanging over their heads.”

  “Possibly. But one thing still bothers me about all this,” Hazel said. “Why hasn’t the father of Doris’s child come forward?”

  “Father?” Michael frowned, sitting back in his chair. “What child?”

  “The baby. Doris was pregnant.” Hazel blinked at him, astonished. “Surely the autopsy must have shown that.”

  Michael shook his head, his dark brows knitted. “Wherever did you get that idea? If anything, the autopsy proved Doris was most definitely not pregnant.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gobsmacked by Michael’s revelation, Hazel didn’t say much on the journey back to Hastings Manor. In fact, it wasn’t until she and Duffy walked into the kitchen that she found her voice again. She waited until Alice and Maggie were present before she spoke. “Doris wasn’t pregnant. The autopsy proved it.”

  Duffy scowled. “But if she wasn’t with child, then why did the murderer want to silence her?”

  “Oh dear. Well, maybe our original love-triangle theory’s correct then, madam,” Alice said, crossing her arms. “One lover gets jealous, decides if he can’t have her, no one can.”

  “I’m just not sure anymore.” Hazel draped her coat over a chair and put her hat on the seat before slumping down into a second chair, toeing
off her red shoes then sighing with relief. “Michael did verify that Lord Wakefield was at Grove Street at the time of Doris’s murder, so it couldn’t have been him. But we still don’t know who she was arguing with in the study that night, unless it was Thomas.”

  “But madam, you said Thomas couldn’t have pushed her because he was on the stairs that night behind Mrs. Crosby,” Maggie said, taking Hazel’s hat and coat.

  “So it must be Alphonse Ash then?” Alice mused, her gaze narrowed.

  “That would explain why he ran,” Duffy added. “The coward.”

  “And Thomas won the argument with Ash, and that was presumably over Doris.” Maggie leaned her elbow on the table, her expression thoughtful. “If Doris had spurned him for Thomas, that could have made Alphonse angry. Perhaps even angry enough to double back and kill Doris so Thomas couldn’t have her.”

  “And if Lady Wakefield was set on matching Thomas up with a member of the aristocracy, then he might have seen that his only way out was to take Doris away up north. To get away from his mother,” Alice said.

  “Yes, but there are still things that don’t fit. Like if Doris wasn’t with child, why in the world would she buy that pregnancy corset at Lady Etienne’s?” Hazel shook her head. “Those things are expensive. That makes no sense.”

  “Wait! It does make sense.” Alice held up her index finger. “It makes sense if she was faking a pregnancy to extort money!”

  Duffy looked skeptical. “From Ash? I doubt he’d have any cash worth taking, being just a chauffeur.” He glanced sideways at Hazel, looking a bit guilty. “Sorry, madam. No offense, but us drivers don’t make much.”

  Hazel made a mental note to give Duffy a raise at her earliest convenience. “Maybe the killer fell for Doris’s ruse and thought she really was pregnant with Lord Wakefield’s or Thomas’s child. If it was Alphonse and he loved her, he could have killed her in a jealous rage.”

  “Or perhaps the chauffeur was out of the picture altogether. Perhaps it was one of the Wakefield family she was trying to blackmail by pretending they got her pregnant. The blackmail angle would explain the argument Betsy overheard.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Maggie said, her tone emphatic. “Betsy said she overheard Doris say she wouldn’t be paid off. She would never have taken money from something so wicked.”

  Hazel considered all the facts. “Betsy did tell me she couldn’t hear the conversation very well. I wonder if Doris perhaps added more to the conversation she couldn’t hear, like ‘for such a small sum’ or if she misheard entirely. Only one thing’s certain. I need to talk to Betsy again and see if she can remember any more about that conversation.”

  “Well, I can probably arrange that for you, madam,” Maggie said. “Though I still have a hard time believing the Doris I knew could be so devious. And I thought that corset was meant to conceal a baby, not fool people into thinking you had one on the way.”

  “Good point, though I have no idea, honestly,” Hazel said. “I don’t wear corsets, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, I used to.” Alice sighed. “Back in my younger days. And I don’t know about these newfangled kind, mind you, but Maggie’s right. They are usually made to hold you in. There is a bit of leeway, though, for expansion, so maybe Doris could’ve stuffed a small pillow or something under there to make it appear she was with child.”

  “I need to check with that shop assistant again, maybe even talk to the owner.” Hazel glanced at the clock on the wall. “But it’s too late now. All the shops are closed. I’ll go back to Lady Etienne’s first thing tomorrow and find out for sure.”

  “If you’ll excuse me then, madam”—Maggie pushed to her feet and headed toward the door—“I’ll just put away your coat and hat then go over to the Hen and Bull and see if Betsy’s there so I can arrange your meeting.”

  “Certainly,” Hazel said, leaning back in her chair and stretching out her legs, glad to be done for the day. But no sooner had the maid left than Shrewsbury walked in, his expression concerned.

  “I have news about Alphonse Ash, ma’am,” he said, slipping out of his black wool topper. “One of my contacts has located him working at the stables of Lord Bowker’s country estate.”

  “That certainly was fast,” Hazel said, impressed. “Your contacts are quite something.”

  “I have my ways, madam.” The butler shrugged, giving her a hint of a proud smile.

  “Any idea how long Ash has been there or when he arrived?” Hazel asked, straightening. “Has anyone questioned him yet?”

  “No one’s talked to him in person yet, madam. Once he heard the police were looking for him, he ran. But the head groom has been questioned, madam, and he said Ash was employed there since noon last Thursday. Seems he arranged for the job earlier in the month.”

  Hazel frowned. “He ran when the police tried to find him for questioning, which implies guilt. And if he arranged for that job ahead of time, then he was already planning on leaving. Perhaps he did that on purpose, knowing he was going to kill Doris.”

  “Indeed, madam.” Shrewsbury nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I’m afraid Alphonse Ash can’t be the killer. Lord Bowker’s estate is a good three hours from Farnsworth Abbey, even with a car. And others have verified his presence in the stables until nearly midnight on that Thursday when Doris was killed.”

  “Blimey.” Alice slumped back against the table’s edge, her expression disappointed. “That means we’re back to blackmail then.”

  “No.” Hazel frowned. “It couldn’t have been Lord Wakefield or Thomas either. We deduced earlier that Thomas wouldn’t have had time to push Doris then get back downstairs to come back up again behind Mrs. Crosby, and Lord Wakefield has an alibi.”

  “Drat. You’re right, madam.” Alice sighed. “Maybe there’s a secret passageway?”

  “I doubt it.” Hazel straightened. “But there is another possibility. One that I brought up earlier but then dismissed. There’s another person who was very close to both Thomas and Doris and who would’ve known about the trip. And that person wasn’t in the room or on the ground floor when Doris was pushed, either. Eugenia.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hazel tossed and turned most of the night, Doris’s case running through her head over and over. The clues did not add up to Eugenia, no matter how she fit them together.

  By the time she got out of bed before dawn and got ready for the day, Dickens was at her bedside, eager for his breakfast. She scooped him up and put him on the bed beside her, using him as a sounding board for her ideas.

  “It doesn’t make sense, boy. Why would Eugenia kill Doris, huh?” She stroked his head and laughed when he purred loudly. “If Thomas loved Doris, then Eugenia wouldn’t want her brother to be unhappy. Unless she did it for Thomas. But why would he want her to?”

  From everything Lady Wakefield had said to Hazel, the twins were conspiring together, not fighting. In fact, maybe they were the ones going away on the trip, not Doris. Maybe they were taking a trip to try to escape their mother’s oppressive attempts at matchmaking and were bringing Doris along as a helper or sidekick. But that still left out many important pieces of the puzzle.

  She exhaled slowly and leaned back on the mattress, propping herself up on one elbow while Dickens stretched out beside her, rolling onto his back for a tummy rub. Her bedroom looked much the same as it had when Charles had been alive—same large brass bed, same ornate carved mahogany dresser and matching mirror that she’d inherited along with Hastings Manor, same pastel painted French doors leading into the attached bath with the white claw-foot tub.

  Nostalgia and loneliness blended inside her. This room, more than any other, reminded her of her Charles and made her miss having his constant companionship beside her, his soapy clean cedar smell, his gentle smile.

  She took a deep breath and shook off the memories, focusing on her current dilemma. “Then Thomas fought with Alphonse, and Alphonse left. Presumably that means Thomas won Doris, right?”
She ran her finger absently through the cat’s silky silver-beige fur, her mind whirling a million miles a second. “Eugenia might have been jealous of all the attention Doris was getting from her brother, I suppose. But that doesn’t really ring true if she and Doris were as close as everyone said. If that were the case, and she was that close to both of them, then I’d think she would’ve been happy to see her friend and her brother so happy together.”

  Frowning, she flopped back onto her pillows. “But there’s still the matter of that pregnancy corset. What if Doris faked the pregnancy to hook Thomas and then when he found out, he got mad and killed her? Or maybe Eugenia became annoyed on his behalf and did Doris in, despite their friendship?” She flung her hand over her eyes and groaned. “Oh, Dickens. I just don’t know anymore. This whole thing still doesn’t seem right, but I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  Dickens meowed loudly and pawed the fringe on a nearby dress. Hazel squinted at the silken strands, realizing they looked very much like corset strings. As if to emphasize his point, the feline leapt up and batted the dress until it fell to the floor. Then he jumped down and scrambled under the bed, still occasionally batting the dangling fringe from under the bed skirt.

  Hazel sat up, frowning. Not because her new evening gown was on the floor, but because realization had finally struck. “Yes! Of course, the corset. If I can discover why Doris would want to fool everyone into thinking she was pregnant, then I should have my answer. That’s it.” Excited to finally be on the right track, she stood, only to halt as a new idea took hold. “Unless…”

  She teased the cat out from under the bed then picked him up, kissing the top of his head. “You are truly a genius, aren’t you, my Dickens?”

  Dickens purred loudly and snuggled in under her chin.

  After putting away the cream evening gown, she chose a crisp white-and-pale-blue-striped linen day dress with a matching pair of shoes and a straw brimmed hat for the day. Considering autumn was upon them, this would likely be the last opportunity she had to wear such a summery outfit that year. The sun was rising outside her window as she dressed and did her hair then slid her feet into her shoes and grabbed her handbag. She kissed Dickens once more before rushing downstairs to find Duffy, calling to him over her shoulder. “You be a good boy for Mummy this morning, and I’ll bring you a treat back from town after I visit Lady Etienne’s again.”