by Sara Rosett
“I visited Emily today,” Lady Holt said. “The poor thing. She’s so distraught. I convinced her she should come tomorrow night for dinner. Just a quiet little gathering, ourselves, that nice Mr. Rimington—he has beautiful manners—and the colonel and Mrs. Shaw, I think. Emily is the sort who will mull over everything until she makes herself sick. She needs to take her mind off things, and no one will begrudge her a quiet evening with us. It will do her good.”
I wouldn’t have thought a widow dining with friends a few nights after her husband’s murder would be something Lady Holt would endorse. Not good manners, as my new stepmother, Sonia, would say, but it seemed Lady Holt felt a liberality when applying etiquette rules to herself and her friends. Somehow I didn’t think she’d extend that same grace to others, but she was set on her idea for another dinner party. “We might as well make the best of—ah—an unpleasant situation.” She smiled in my direction. “Since you and Mr. Busby must remain until the inq— until later, we shall have a small gathering to take our minds off recent events.”
“I’m sure dinner will be lovely,” I said.
Mr. Busby ignored me and spoke to Lady Holt. “And I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with Mrs. Pearce. She seems a delightful lady. I’ll do my best to distract her.”
Lady Holt turned to Zippy. “And you’ll join us as well. Don’t make other plans.”
It was a command, not a request. Zippy’s lips flattened, a pale imitation of his mother’s frequently displeased face, but he said, “Of course, Mother.”
Lady Holt looked to Serena, who hadn’t said a word all evening. “You’ll be there as well, I trust.”
Serena looked up from her plate. “What?”
“Serena! You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
“No. I have an idea that may work for the quiet vacuum. It just needs a few adjustments and then—”
“Pay attention, Serena. We’re discussing dinner tomorrow night with Emily as our guest. I expect you to be here and be attentive.”
That surprised her out of her preoccupied state. “Emily’s dining out? So soon?”
“It will be good for her and help her take her mind off things.”
Serena raised her eyebrows. “Then we’d better not have coffee in the drawing room after dinner.”
“Of course not,” Lady Holt said. “I plan to have it on the terrace. It should be pleasant outdoors.” The conversation turned to the weather, and that carried us through until the ladies withdrew. It was an abbreviated evening. Lady Holt didn’t suggest cards, and we all retreated to our rooms fairly early.
I dismissed Janet when she came to help me change, telling her I could manage by myself. Instead of putting on my dressing gown when I removed my dress, I pulled on my jodhpurs. I shrugged into my cardigan and put the torch—which I had yet to return to the closet under the stairs—in my pocket along with a half crown, my means of making sure I could get back into Blackburn Hall. And Jasper said I didn’t think ahead!
I settled down in the chair to wait, listening for the click of Zippy’s door or his whistling. If he was going out tonight, I was following him. I wanted to see for myself exactly where he was going and what he was doing. I had so much nervous energy, I hopped up from the chair and paced around the room.
Longly’s promise—threat?—to visit Blackburn Hall to speak to me loomed over me. Even though Longly hadn’t arrived that night, I knew it was only a temporary reprieve.
I circled my room, my thoughts running along a familiar track. I couldn’t think how I could find out anything else about Pearce’s death. The postmortem was probably scheduled, if not underway, and I couldn’t think of a way to talk to Emily Pearce before Lady Holt’s dinner. I’d have to wait until then and see if I could discover something during casual conversation. My time now was better spent focusing on Mayhew. If I could sort out some of the questions around her death, I was sure it would reveal who’d killed Pearce as well because I couldn’t shake my feeling that the deaths were linked.
I couldn't think of anything that connected Zippy to both Pearce and Mayhew, but Zippy’s furtive phone call and nighttime strolls bothered me. It was odd. Like Longly and his aversion to loose ends, things that were a bit off bothered me. And keeping an eye on Zippy was something I could do. I wasn't good at waiting. Patience wasn’t one of my strengths.
I couldn’t imagine I would get sleepy, but after an hour, my eyelids began to feel heavy. I pulled back the drapes and opened a window, letting in the muggy night air. I breathed deeply then went back to pacing.
I was on my seventh circuit of the room—I was counting to keep myself alert—when I heard a whisper of sound, a tune whistled quietly. I went to the door, crouched down, and put my eye to the keyhole. As the notes grew louder, I recognized Shimmy with Me. Zippy strode by, his arms swinging loosely. He wore a tweed jacket and a trilby, so he definitely wasn’t about to retire for the night.
The whistling faded, and I inched the door open. I patted my pocket, even though I knew the torch was still in there. It had been banging against my hip as I walked around the room. A wave of nervousness hit me. I drew in a calming breath, closed my door, and followed him, staying far enough back that he couldn’t see me as he went down the stairs and crossed to Blackburn Hall’s main door. He opened it and stepped outside in a smooth, practiced movement. The lofty room almost absorbed the dull thud of the door closing.
I scampered down the stairs and crossed the hall in the opposite direction, heading for the back of the house. I hoped I wouldn’t lose Zippy, but I couldn’t risk being locked out if he returned before I did. The library was deserted, and I crept carefully through the darkened room to the closed drapes. I twitched back one fabric panel, opened the French door, and fished the half crown out of my pocket. I held it against the strike plate as I closed the door, a movement that required finesse, which was hard to do because my hands trembled with adrenaline. I released the door handle and breathed a sigh of relief when the coin stayed in place and didn’t ping onto the stone terrace.
The terrace was dark and deserted, but I felt exposed even in the weak moonlight. I moved to the wall at the corner of the house and waited, listening. Had I guessed wrong? Was Zippy not coming around to the back of the house? Had he gone out through the front gates? The air was heavy and still, and the only sounds were the faint burble of the river and the rustle of something in the undergrowth—the kitchen cat, I hoped.
I couldn’t follow Zippy if I lost him after he cleared the front door. Curse Jasper and his inane warnings. I shouldn’t have worried about being cautious or what Jasper would think. I should have followed Zippy out the front door, key or no key—
A snatch of a whistled note floated through the air. After a pause, I heard it again, louder this time. A few seconds later, Zippy’s tweedy form appeared in a gap between the trees, highlighted for a moment in the faint silvery moonlight. He was on the path that ran along the river to East Bank Cottage.
I stole through the garden, staying on the grass that edged the gravel paths so I didn’t make any noise. The path beside the river was hard-packed earth, and when I reached it, I could walk along it quietly. I stayed back so if Zippy looked over his shoulder, he wouldn’t be able to see me. He didn’t use a torch, and I didn’t need mine either as long as he stayed to the path, weaving back and forth in a serpentine pattern. He whistled at full volume now, but his timing was a little off. I wondered how many drinks he’d had after dinner. It didn’t appear any of them had been coffee.
I dropped back a bit farther as he neared the point where the tree had toppled into the river. I had to go into the belt of trees that lined the path at that point because the path still hadn’t been repaired. I didn’t want to make any noise as I walked through the undergrowth, and I was picking my way through the deeper darkness under the branches when a hand covered my mouth and an arm came around me, pinning me against a solid chest.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I
twisted my head away from the hand and whispered, “Jasper, what are you doing?” The tall pines blocked some of the moonlight, but I could still see the faint shape of a fedora.
“I could ask you the same thing.” His grip loosened.
“I’m following Zippy.”
“I’m doing the same,” he said. “Well, technically, I was waiting here to see if you were following Zippy. I was sure you would be. How did you know it was me?”
“Your citrus and cinnamon aftershave. Very distinctive.” I stepped back. I felt bereft and a little cold for a second, despite the warmth of the summer night. I started walking. “Let’s go.”
“Seems a shame. I quite enjoyed that.”
“Don’t tease.” I pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you dare tell me to go back to Blackburn Hall.”
“Never crossed my mind. I’m here as your assistant.” We left the closeness of the trees and walked along, our words barely above a whisper. “Of course, it would be easier to assist you if you let me in on the schedule. Is this another secret you can’t share?”
“Shh.” I put a hand on Jasper’s arm, and he halted beside me. Zippy had stopped. I breathed, “That lane goes to East Bank Cottage.”
A flare of light blazed through the darkness as Zippy focused a torch on his wristwatch. He doused the light and continued on along the main path, his steps meandering back and forth. We followed along behind him silently for a long distance, the only sound the hoot of an owl and the rush of the river. A cloud drifted over the moon, and the clusters of trees along each side of the path lost any sense of depth, becoming flat black outlines like enormous stage decorations. We trooped on in Zippy’s wake. After a while, the clouds shifted, and the details of the landscape became a little more defined as we followed Zippy into a small village, its shops and cottages whitewashed in the moonlight. “Where is this?” I asked.
“Sidlingham. Monty and I came here a few days ago to have dinner with a friend.”
“I didn’t realize it was so close to Blackburn Hall.” A sign in the window of the pub announced, Rooms to Let. “Someone could have walked from here to Hadsworth easily. You checked the guests at the pub in Hadsworth and the golfers, but I didn’t think to check the surrounding villages. I wonder if this pub had anyone staying here last week.”
“Good question,” Jasper said. “I didn’t think of it either.”
Zippy made his way in an undulating line to the door of the pub. A golden glow and the murmur of conversation spilled outside. He closed the door behind him, and the little village was quiet again.
Jasper motioned me in front of him toward the door. “Shall we?”
“I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“I noticed that. Did you expect Zippy to go for a midnight ride?”
I slapped Jasper’s arm with the back of my hand. “I didn’t know what Zippy was going to do. If I was going to be tromping around the countryside in the middle of the night, I wanted to be prepared for anything—like climbing over walls or perhaps trudging across muddy fields. I didn’t expect a meandering stroll along a deserted lane and a visit to a pub.”
“Rather mundane, isn’t it? But then again, Zippy’s not the most avant-garde of individuals.”
I set off for the pub. “Maybe no one will notice how I’m dressed.”
It was a fairly busy night at the pub. A few people looked up when we entered, but it didn’t seem anyone was particularly interested in my clothing. We sat down at a table on the opposite side of the room from Zippy. He was so absorbed in speaking to the woman who brought his beer, he didn’t notice us. The woman’s thick brunette hair was cut in a bob that fell over one eye as she tilted her head to listen to Zippy. Her red lips parted, and she threw her head back as she laughed. Zippy watched her like I imagined a man lost in the desert would eye a mirage of palm trees.
“Well, I guess that explains what Zippy’s been up to,” Jasper said.
“Yes. It looks like Zippy finally has another interest besides golf.”
Jasper said, “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll have a ginger beer.”
Jasper went to order our drinks, and I kept an eye on Zippy. Surely he was meeting someone else here? But even after Jasper returned and we lingered at the table over our drinks, no one else approached Zippy’s table. It was clear from the way Zippy’s gaze followed the barmaid that he was only interested in her.
I put my glass down. “I find it hard to believe Zippy’s been sneaking around to meet a girl.”
“You’d be surprised what men will do to meet a girl.”
“Why wouldn’t he meet with her openly?”
“You’re the one who told me what a stickler Lady Holt is. Do you think she’d welcome her son’s association with a barmaid?” Jasper cut his gaze to the woman who was picking up empty glasses and wiping tabletops. She kept looking at Zippy from under her lashes and going out of her way to make sure she passed Zippy’s table at every opportunity.
“I’m sure Lady Holt would be horrified. But why all the creeping about at night?”
“Who knows? Men do tend to behave in inexplicable ways when a woman is involved.”
I pushed my chair back. “Let’s go ask him.”
Behind my shoulder, Jasper said, “I don’t think he’s interested in chatting with us tonight.”
“We’ll only take a moment of his time.” I wove through the tables and gripped the back of one of the chairs at Zippy’s table. “Zippy, how are you? Mind if we join you for a moment?”
Zippy stared at my face for a long moment, then blinked slowly. “Er—Olive?”
I pulled out the chair. “Yes, it’s me. And Jasper is here as well.”
As we were seated, Jasper said under his breath. “This should be entertaining.”
I shot him a look. I hoped it conveyed if he didn’t have anything helpful to say to keep his comments to himself. It must have been evocative. Jasper waved a hand, indicating I had the floor, then asked me if I wanted another drink.
“No. I’m at my limit.” Jasper didn’t ask Zippy the same question. Zippy looked like he was about five drinks past his limit. His hands were wrapped around his half-full pint as if someone might try to take it away from him.
Jasper went to the bar, and I turned to Zippy. Considering his state, a direct approach phrased in simple words was probably best. “Zippy, why did you sneak out of Blackburn Hall tonight?”
He leaned forward as if he were about to reveal state secrets and spoke in a whisper, but he still managed to douse me with alcoholic fumes. “The mater doesn’t approve.” He leaned back and shook his head in an exaggerated way. “Not at all. She forbade me.”
“She doesn’t approve of your friendship with . . .” I let my gaze travel across the room to the brunette barmaid.
Zippy’s face softened. “Lucy.” The word came out on a sigh.
“Have you been seeing Lucy long?”
Zippy didn’t reply. He continued to gaze at Lucy. I resisted the urge to snap my fingers in front of his face. “Zippy!”
“Hm? What?”
“Have you been seeing Lucy for a long time?”
“Ages! At least two months.”
“Then why don’t you come here during the day?”
“Can’t. Too dangerous.”
Jasper returned to the table and caught the last statement from Zippy as he took a seat. Jasper sipped his pint and leaned in. “Too dangerous in what way?”
“Mrs. Fenimore.” Zippy’s tone had a finality to it that indicated the name should explain everything. I exchanged a look with Jasper, but he lifted one shoulder.
I asked, “Who’s Mrs. Fenimore, Zippy?”
Zippy took a slow drink, then set his pint down with great concentration. He was weaving slightly from side to side even seated in his chair, and I supposed the table might seem to be rolling like a ship deck to him. “Mrs. Fenimore lives dir—direct—” He swallowed. “Across the street.” He nodded at the
pub’s door, then attempted to put his elbow on the table but missed the edge and listed toward me.
Jasper caught Zippy’s shoulder and straightened him. “She lives across the lane from the pub?”
Jasper nodded with the solemnness of a judge pronouncing a sentence. “Yes. Nothing to do all day but watch the street. She’s the mater’s bridge partner. Never misses a game. If she saw me or my motor . . .”
I looked at Jasper, and he commented, “Zippy has a Bugatti. Red. Distinctive.”
“Oh, I see,” I said.
Zippy said, “If Mrs. Fenimore saw me, she’d be off to Blackburn Hall like that.” He illustrated with a quick movement of his hand that nearly caught me in the throat.
I leaned back until he returned to his slumped posture. “So you’re sneaking around to prevent Lady Holt from learning about Lucy.”
He attempted to draw himself up, but his spine was nowhere near the ruler-straight line his mother maintained. “It isn’t that,” Zippy said. “I like my privacy.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable, and grinned a bit when he got the last word out without stumbling over it.
I sighed and said to Jasper, “Well, I suppose this is like your list of guests at the pub—good to know, if only for elimination purposes.”
“Speaking of lists.” Jasper handed me a piece of paper torn from a notebook across Zippy’s line of vision, but Zippy’s gaze didn’t flinch. He seemed to have forgotten us. He’d propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. His adoring gaze was fixed on Lucy again.
The paper contained another list of names—Mr. Timothy Hornby, Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Wellsby, Mr. Benjamin Leighland, Mr. and Miss Collingworth, and Mr. Rupert Jones. “What’s this?” I put out a hand to stop the slow slide of Zippy’s elbow in my direction.
“I took a quick peek at the guest ledger when I ordered our drinks,” Jasper said. “It was unattended, so I copied the names down. The length of their stays varied, but all those names overlapped on either Tuesday or Wednesday of last week. I checked that list against the list of golfers. No matches. It doesn’t get us any further along either.”