A Devious Death

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “True enough. All right, the Grekovs remain on the list of suspects. Then we have Olive Asquith, who conveniently was the first to find both Regina and Mr. Cameron. And she was most likely either living off Regina’s money or persuading her to spend her resources for some cause or other. That also makes her suspect, because Regina might have decided to cut her off.”

  “Myra Stanley is also suspect,” Eva said. “I’m quite sure Diana Manners sacked her for some kind of betrayal, and that Myra had somehow offended your cousin in the past. Myra admitted to knowing Miss Brockhurst.”

  Phoebe studied her, then made a guess. “There is another strike against Stanley, and it has to do with Julia, doesn’t it?”

  “I cannot say, my lady.” Eva compressed her lips in an all too telling way. Phoebe decided not to question her further. Unlike Myra Stanley, Eva would never betray someone’s trust.

  Phoebe nodded and moved on. “Hastings, Verna, and Cousin Clarabelle all had reason to wish Regina dead, since they stood to gain as her legal heirs and were incensed by her inheritance. In addition to that, I do believe Cousin Clarabelle was in love with Mr. Cameron, and might have been jealous of Regina’s affections for the man and his for her.”

  “Do you believe the dowager would have murdered her own daughter?”

  “Truly?” Phoebe stopped pacing long enough to shake her head and sigh. “No, but we can’t entirely rule it out. However, Hastings and Verna are another matter. Except that . . .”

  “Except what, my lady?”

  “Hastings always seems too inebriated to kill anyone. Not Regina, and certainly not Mr. Cameron, who would have possessed the strength to fight him off fairly easily, one would think.”

  “Don’t forget about that beastly andiron, my lady. Even staggering, Lord Mandeville might have been able to swing it, and obviously Mr. Cameron couldn’t get out of the way.”

  “Yes, but with Hastings so unsteady all the time, it seems doubtful he could have managed to aim that andiron with any measure of accuracy.”

  “Hmm . . . I do see your point. But such a weapon would have been difficult for anyone to use, most especially one of the women. Take Miss Asquith, for instance. She’s just a wisp of a thing.”

  “She is at that.” Phoebe had been all too willing to condemn Olive when they found Ralph on the billiard room floor. It wasn’t simply that Olive had found both bodies; there was more, something Phoebe didn’t like to admit, something she was perhaps missing from her own life . . . “Olive and my cousin,” she said and stopped.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “They were very close.”

  “Yes, my lady, I agree. They seemed quite close friends.”

  “More than that. Like sisters, only yet again, more.”

  Eva’s head tilted. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Phoebe couldn’t meet her gaze. “They argued fiercely at times when we went shopping, while at other times they were sullen with each other. And then the next minute they’d act as if nothing had gone awry between them. They had a bond unlike anything I’ve ever enjoyed with anyone.” She walked several steps, stopped, and turned back to face Eva. “I believe I was . . . or am . . . jealous of that.”

  “Of what, my lady?” Eva shook her head in incomprehension.

  “Of sharing that kind of closeness with another human being. I haven’t. Not even with my sisters. Julia and I—well, I needn’t explain that to you. And Amelia is still too young. Someday, perhaps, but not now. And as for friends . . . I cannot think of anyone I would feel so comfortable with. We are always so polite, we British, aren’t we? It prevents . . . well . . . true friendship in many cases, I think. At least the kind of friendship Regina and Olive enjoyed.”

  Eva came to her, her hand rising to cup Phoebe’s cheek. “My dearest lady. I am your friend. Yes, I serve you, but you must never believe that mere employment is what keeps me at your side. I . . .” Eva trailed off and looked away, blinking. When she returned her gaze to Phoebe’s it was with a spark every bit as fierce as any emotion she had witnessed between Regina and Olive.

  She smiled and shook her head. “You needn’t say more, Eva. I’m foolish sometimes. I forgot how very much I have, how lucky I am.” And then a sobering thought struck her. Twice in the past, Phoebe’s life had been threatened, and Eva had responded with vehement devotion and ardent protectiveness. “Powerful emotions can produce extreme actions, can’t they? Even in the name of friendship.”

  “Indeed they can.” The intensity of Eva’s reply made Phoebe believe that perhaps their thoughts had taken a similar turn. “Especially in the name of friendship, my lady.”

  “Olive was singularly possessive of my cousin. I saw it. She clearly resented Julia’s and my presence here. I believe she wanted Regina all to herself, while Regina, perhaps, wished others to join their circle. This might have greatly angered Olive. She claimed Ralph Cameron argued with Regina, but maybe it was Olive who argued with her last night and . . .”

  Eva placed a hand on her wrist. “That is a possibility, my lady. But you mustn’t blame yourself again for not going into your cousin’s room last night. You could not have known what was going to happen.”

  “Or what had already happened.” Phoebe gulped, then swallowed her guilt. “Olive is hiding something, that much is certain. Her wealthy family has disowned her, true, but she puts on airs as if she’s from a working-class background. A kind of reverse snobbery, if you will.”

  “Her boots,” Eva said with a nod. When Phoebe didn’t understand and said as much, Eva explained, “Her boots are of fine quality. The plain design is deceiving, but they’re made of high grade, hand-stitched calfskin. Probably Italian. Expensive.”

  “Leave it to you to notice such details.”

  “It’s my job to notice such things.”

  Phoebe resumed pacing. “We need to consider the facts we’re sure of. Regina’s room was left remarkably undisturbed by the crime, and she didn’t appear to awaken during the attack. There were no bruises on her face or neck, other than the wound left by the pin.”

  “A glass with traces of whiskey sat on her bedside table,” Eva added, “and some appeared to have been spilled on the pillow. Also, a newspaper was burned, leaving only a partially legible scrap.”

  “Yes, our mystifying ‘list Labor.’ ” Phoebe tapped her chin, trying to place each clue into a larger picture. She began reciting: “Regina spending money wildly to put her plans for this house in motion; Olive, with her pretense of being poor and her possessiveness toward Regina; the Brockhursts, who wished to be anything but poor; the Grekovs, who show up out of the blue—” She went still. Her mouth opened upon a jarring thought.

  “What is it, my lady?” Eva looked alarmed.

  “ Was the Grekovs’ arrival really so out of the blue? We’ve already determined they aren’t what they claim to be, but I do believe they are from Russia. It would be difficult to fake that, especially without much warning, and more importantly, why fake being from there? You said Olive claimed they came every few days to clean, yet the story changed, didn’t it, when Mrs. Dayton and Margaret didn’t recognize them. Then, suddenly, Olive claimed they had been hired but hadn’t yet begun their duties.”

  “Unless I heard Miss Asquith wrong when she first mentioned them. What are you getting at, my lady?”

  “Think about it. Regina with her secret plans for this house. Olive with her utilitarian views. The Grekovs, who speak enough English to know to run when a policeman tells them they’re under arrest.” She set her hands on her hips, confident in the conclusion she had drawn. “Eva, what is going on in Russia as we speak?”

  “A civil war.”

  “Precisely. A civil war between the old regime as well as opposing factions of the new Communist Party, who also call themselves socialists.” Her heart began to race again, pounding hard against her ribs, as another realization struck home. “Eva, ‘list Labor’—socialist or communist labor. I’d wager my motorcar the burned public
ation was from the Socialist Democratic Federation, or some such group, which is actively spreading its doctrine in England. Regina and Olive spoke of new ideas for the future. Of course. We should have seen it sooner. I believe they were both advocates of spreading socialism right here in England. And I will bet you the Grekovs are part of it.”

  Eva sank into the nearest chair. “Bolsheviks here, in England? Your own cousin?”

  “I’ll wager the Grekovs, and a host of others, came from Russia to help disperse communist ideas throughout Europe. That is the goal, you realize. Their trip here might even have been funded by the Communist Party.”

  “My lady, how beastly. After what the Red Army did to the czar.”

  “And possibly his entire family, though no one is quite certain of their fate.” Phoebe hugged her arms around her middle. “Can you imagine such a thing happening to our own royal family?”

  “No wonder someone burned that publication. But who? Miss Brockhurst? Her brother? Miss Asquith? Who?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.” Phoebe dragged a chair closer to Eva’s. Sitting, she reached for Eva’s hands. “We need a plan. Whatever mischief brought the Grekovs to England, I’m not convinced they murdered my cousin, although as you said, we cannot rule it out. As for the others. . .” She thought a moment, and remembered something Eva said the day before. “Being a fly on the wall would certainly come in handy now. If we could only observe the others for signs of guilt. With two victims now, there is sure to be evidence someone is desperate to conceal.”

  Eva’s bottom lip slipped between her teeth. Then her face lit up. “I have an idea, my lady. A rather underhanded one. One that would get me the sack immediately if I ever dared use it.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Eva. What is it?”

  Eva leaned closer, her fingers tightening around Phoebe’s. “The speaking tubes, my lady. We’ll open them from the bedrooms and any other rooms we can. By switching from room to room at my end, I’ll be able to hear anyone talking below and listen in. We’ll just have to devise a way to keep Myra downstairs so she doesn’t overhear the voices coming from my room. Do you think your sister would help us?”

  “Assuming Julia isn’t guilty . . .”

  “My lady!”

  “I’m only joking. Yes, I think Julia can be prevailed upon to help us.” She frowned in sudden doubt. “Perhaps if you asked her . . .”

  * * *

  “Then you’ll do it, my lady? You’ll keep Myra away from the third floor?” Eva held her breath while she waited for Lady Julia to consider. Lady Phoebe’s parting expression earlier haunted her mind’s eye. Her sadness had been unmistakable, along with her reluctant admittance that Lady Julia would not likely do her any favors. Eva didn’t understand it any better than her lady. The rivalry had existed between the sisters for years now, but Eva could find no logical reason why a woman as beautiful and accomplished as Julia Renshaw would not treat her younger sister with affection and generosity.

  Lady Julia rose from her perch on the chaise longue at the foot of her bed. “I suppose I can keep Stanley busy for the next couple of hours. Though honestly, I don’t know what you and Phoebe hope to accomplish by listening in on people. It’s not likely any of them is going to confess to murder in the privacy of their bedrooms.”

  “We don’t expect a confession, my lady, but one never knows what people might murmur when they’re alone or when speaking to someone else. Your sister will be attempting to engage the others in leading conversations.”

  “That’s all very well and good, but you do understand, given the circumstances, what an inconvenience it will be for me to have to spend time in that woman’s company.”

  “I do, my lady. You don’t trust Myra, with good reason. I’m not asking you to take her into your confidence or even remain in the same room with her, but merely to charge her with enough tasks to keep her occupied below stairs.”

  “Did you tell my sister about Stanley’s probable treachery?”

  “No, I didn’t. It’s not for me to tell. If you wish to explain to Lady Phoebe—”

  “I don’t, Eva. It’s none of Phoebe’s business. She knows too much about the matter as it is.”

  A heavy pause ensued, one in which Eva groped for the proper words that might help alleviate some of the rancor between the sisters. “You know, my lady, you would find a very willing ally in Lady Phoebe if you wished. She would never betray your trust.”

  Lady Julia looked as if she had something contrary to remark, but then her expression cleared, and she shrugged a shoulder. “No, I suppose she wouldn’t at that.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it. Please let Stanley know I wish to see her.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Eva should not have expected anything different from the eldest Renshaw sister, a woman who rarely shared her deepest feelings with any but a select, privileged few. Occasionally, Eva had been the recipient of Lady Julia’s confidence, as earlier when the Countess of Wroxly had telephoned to confront her granddaughter about her affections for the new Marquess of Allerton. That privilege would not, apparently, be extended again, not today at any rate.

  It wasn’t merely concern for Lady Phoebe that drove Eva to discover the root of the sisters’ discord. She wished to see them reconciled—truly friends again, as they had been years ago—as much for Lady Julia’s sake as Phoebe’s. Siblings were a precious commodity and not to be squandered. The war had taught her that.

  Below stairs, Myra Stanley grumbled at the summons Eva delivered. She had just poured a cup of tea and made herself comfortable in the housekeeper’s parlor, her stockinged feet propped on a footstool. She glowered at Eva from beneath her frizzled bangs. “What on earth can she want now? I can’t imagine she needs me to iron a gown for dinner, not with two dead bodies in one day. Who will care what anyone wears?”

  Eva winced at the woman’s bluntness. “She has a name. Lady Julia. And whatever she wishes you to do, it’s your duty to oblige.”

  “Never a moment’s rest.” Myra blew into her tea and took a sip. She didn’t look at all inclined to relinquish either the earthenware mug or her comfortable seat.

  “Shall I go back and tell your mistress you’re indisposed?” Eva tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Oh, now that is an idea. Tell her I’m ill, or that these murders are quite shredding my nerves. Do you think she’d go for it?”

  That response baffled Eva. “Myra, why did you become a lady’s maid?”

  “What would you have me be? A scullery maid? No, thank you. And I certainly can’t cook. I was a parlor maid years ago, but, as I’ve a passing fair vocabulary, a sound knowledge of fashion, and no liking for dust rags and mops, lady’s maid seemed a good choice. Of course, I didn’t simply walk into the job, mind you.”

  “How did you come by the position?” Eva asked in spite of herself. She shouldn’t have given Myra the satisfaction of showing her curiosity, but she couldn’t fathom how an insolent slacker like Myra Stanley had risen so high in the hierarchy of service.

  The woman chuckled unpleasantly. “By always being on hand to clean up the other girls’ messes.”

  Eva narrowed her eyes, suspecting many of those messes were undoubtedly caused by Myra herself. She crossed to the woman and took the mug from her hand. “If I were you I’d get myself upstairs and see to my mistress’s needs. At once. Or you’ll find yourself longing to scrub floors and dust furniture, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Is that so? See here. You may have been in the Renshaws’ employ longer than me, but need I remind you that as the eldest granddaughter’s maid, I outrank you.”

  It was Eva’s turn to chuckle. The woman obviously had no idea how precarious her position was, what with Lady Julia’s suspicions. “I doubt that very much, Myra. Very much indeed.”

  Next, Eva and Lady Phoebe tested their plan. Eva returned to her room on the third floor. A few minutes later she heard Lady Phoebe’s voice, distant and
slightly muffled, a result of her speaking from the middle of her bedroom rather than directly into the tube. “Can you hear me?”

  “I can, my lady.”

  “Good. I’ll go and open the other speaking tubes, at least the ones in unoccupied rooms. I think everyone except Julia is downstairs at the moment, and she said she’d open her own tube.” Her voice came in stronger and louder; she must have moved closer to the mouthpiece. “There’s not much to be done about Olive’s room, since she’s locked in. But since she’s alone it’s not as if she’ll be speaking out loud about committing crimes.”

  “One never knows,” Eva replied. “Sometimes the guilty murmur in their sleep.”

  “Then what should we do?”

  Eva thought a moment, then brightened and reached into the pocket of her dress. “In all the excitement I’d nearly forgotten. Miles left the key to Miss Asquith’s room with me. In a little while, I’ll use the excuse of bringing Miss Asquith something to eat. While I’m in the room, I’ll try to unhook the tube.”

  “Brilliant. While you do that, I’ll take your place upstairs. Do you think the constable will object to your visiting Olive?”

  “He did give me the key for the purpose of providing her with anything she might need.”

  “Good. I’m going to open the other tubes now. Listen carefully.”

  A few minutes later, another familiar voice reached Eva’s ear.

  “I’d like this skirt hemmed, Stanley. About this much.” Eva imagined Lady Julia holding her thumb and forefinger a short distance apart. “And this shirtwaist—look at these wrinkles. Really, Stanley, you must learn not to crowd my things in the wardrobe. Oh, and these pumps. The shine is becoming rather dull, don’t you think? Please take them down and give them a thorough buffing. And while you’re at it, I could really do with some strong tea and something to eat. Something sweet. Ask Mrs. Dayton, I’m sure she’s got something on hand. Well, what are you waiting for?”