The Killing at Kaldaire House

by Kate Parker

  “Oh, what is it?” Deborah, Lady Linchester, studied it for a minute before she took the dowager Lady Linchester’s discarded hat and tried putting the two together. I held my hand under the hat and demonstrated with my other hand.

  “How clever. I’d like one, too. Where did you find it?”

  “I’m a milliner, so I thought I’d expand my business into something new that ladies could use. Although I admit this was the first time I’d used one on a country road, it worked better than I expected.”

  “May I have one? I can definitely use one, since George is always taking James and me out in his new machine.”

  “Of course,” I said, pulling another one out. “It’s my gift to you and your mother-in-law. You’re being very kind to let Lady Kaldaire and me stay out here for a few days.”

  “I’ll put the servants on watch for any London killers.” She sounded quite serious.

  “Please don’t bother. The detective thinks we’ll be safe enough away from London. The only problem is being away from my shop for that long.”

  A surprised look crossed her ordinary features. “You don’t find it difficult saying you’re in trade?”

  “Not at all. I grew up working in our millinery shop with my mother. It’s as natural to me as being a debutante is to you.”

  “Miss Gates, you are a breath of fresh air. Everyone around here is afraid to mention business or money or trade for fear of seeming crass. I can’t help but think it’s a perfectly normal part of life.”

  “Deborah, please. None of your free thinking around here,” her mother-in-law said.

  “Thank you for the covering,” Deborah, Lady Linchester, said. In a lower voice, she added, “We’ll talk later.”

  I thought I might like to get to know the current Marchioness of Linchester.

  We were shown to our rooms and then Lady Kaldaire said she would lie down before tea. Since I normally did a great deal more in a day than sit on a train, I asked if I could walk around the grounds. The young marchioness said she’d accompany me.

  Once we got outside, she gave a deep sigh and said, “My mother-in-law doesn’t think there’s anything strange about Lady Kaldaire suddenly asking us to put the two of you up for a few days just because an unknown assailant killed her husband, but I do. And since you seem to have the freedom to say things none of the rest of us dare, I thought I’d ask you. It’s not too presumptuous of me, is it, Miss Gates?”

  “Not at all. I’d wonder too, if I were in your position. You know the details of Lord Kaldaire’s murder?”

  “Of course.”

  “Two days ago, the Kaldaire butler was thrown out an upper-story window to his death.”

  She gasped.

  “The police thought it would be safer if Lady Kaldaire and I left London for a little while.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I understand them thinking Lady Kaldaire might be in danger, but why you?”

  “Because I was the first to discover both crimes. And because Lady Kaldaire asked me to find out who killed her husband.”

  “Gracious. Are you some sort of private investigator?”

  “No. I am a milliner. Lady Kaldaire, however, sees people as capable of carrying out more than one function.” I hoped it wasn’t a case of her seeing everyone from the point of view of what they could do for her.

  “Did you design her hat? As a new widow, I expected to see her in a veil or a bonnet. Something more traditional.”

  “Lady Kaldaire doesn’t feel she can put on all the trappings of mourning until her husband’s killer is found.”

  We walked in silence for a minute before Lady Linchester said, “Do you know who killed him?”

  “I haven’t any idea. I feel like Doctor Watson.”

  “I guess you could use Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I could. Do you read Conan Doyle’s stories?”

  “I do. And love them.”

  I smiled at her. “So do I.” We began a discussion of his stories that carried us around the house twice. We found ourselves talking as if we were old friends.

  I stopped and looked out at fields green with half-grown plants. “I’ve never been to a house like yours before. I’ve never been in the country. Everything is so beautiful. So perfect.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you spent any amount of time here.” She gave me a smile, but there was sadness in her eyes.

  “Is my presence here a problem? Is that why Lord George asked if I were Lady Kaldaire’s companion?”

  “Did he? You see, to George’s way of thinking, if you’re stuck out here in the countryside, either you’re landed gentry, one of us, or you’re someone who works for us. The tenant farmers, the vicar, the schoolteacher, the postmistress and her shop, the publican, they’re all tenants for one or another of the landed families.”

  “That’s a lot different from city life.”

  “I love the few chances I get to travel to London with James. To me it’s an exciting change.” She took a few more steps before she said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Miss Gates rather than Emily as Lady Kaldaire does. That way I can give you status in everyone’s eyes so you can eat meals with us and be treated as a true guest.”

  I grinned at her. “Thank you for your consideration. There is no place to eat around here if your family decides not to feed me, and it’s a long walk back to the train station.”

  “If you’re called Emily, even Miss Emily, you’ll be thought of as Lady Kaldaire’s companion, and you’d only be marginally tolerated. If it’s Miss Emily Gates, called Miss Gates, people will be less likely to question your exact role here.”

  “As if I’m an old school friend or a distant relation?”

  “Exactly. Actually, I think your frankness is refreshing.”

  “Thank you.” That would make my task easier. As long as she was being helpful, I decided to press my luck. “Do you know Lady Taylor?”

  “The new one? The former Mrs. Dennison? Yes. She’s absolutely beautiful, but she’s not conceited about it.” Her eyes widened. “You want to question her about Lord Kaldaire’s death? She wouldn’t have done it. She’s not that kind.”

  “I don’t believe she did. I think she may have some information she doesn’t realize is important.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Lord Taylor was one of the last people to see Lord Kaldaire alive.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t have—”

  I put out a hand. “I know, but they were speaking that night about Lady Taylor, and I want to know her husband’s mood when he returned home. Or if he mentioned whether anyone else was about.”

  Lady Linchester shook her head. “That can be tricky, getting a husband to tell you what he considers to be ‘men’s business.’ We’re still thought of strictly in terms of our womanly virtues. We’re not given credit for our brains, even by men as forward thinking as James and Lord Taylor.”

  “You don’t think she’d know if something had been wrong when he returned?”

  “Oh, she’d know, all right,” Lady Linchester said, “but whether she could get him to tell her about it or whether anyone else was present is something else again.”

  A footman came toward us. “My lady, tea is served in the red parlor.”

  With a nod, Lady Linchester led me inside.

  I didn’t believe the dowager Lady Linchester when she said this was an unimportant parlor, used for family and friends but not formal occasions. The fabrics on the chair cushions and the draperies were new, bright, and unsullied, and the patterned carpets were thick. I’d seldom seen anything so lovely in the homes of my London customers.

  Of course, the air here was much cleaner than London’s sooty smog. The sky was blue. I could get used to life in the country, as long as I had money and a title.

  We sat down and tea was served. The two older women caught up on news of some of their friends before I could ask, “Do many of the motorcar racers travel with their wives?”

  “Some do. We don’t ha
ve any staying with us. Just men clomping about the house in the evening. And the conversation at dinner is all about ratchets and gears and ratios. But don’t worry. They won’t disturb your peace, Miss Gates,” the dowager Lady Linchester said.

  It wasn’t my peace that concerned me. My hopes for advertising my motoring veils fell.

  “Perhaps we could visit Lady Taylor tomorrow,” Lady Kaldaire said. “I want to introduce her to Emily.”

  Marjorie, Lady Linchester, set down her teacup and smoothed her skirts. “Roberta, what is going on?”

  The old woman was sharper than I had thought.

  “Lord Taylor was one of the last people to see Horace before his death. My hope is Emily can learn from Lady Taylor what they discussed and if their discussion can shed any light on who so cruelly ended Horace’s life.” Lady Kaldaire could have given more drama to her statement if she’d pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, but she didn’t need to. Her emotions were evident in her voice.

  Marjorie, Lady Linchester, raised an eyebrow. “Really, Roberta, that is most extraordinary. Do you really think Lady Taylor can help?”

  “Yes, and Emily is just the person to accomplish this.”

  “Emily? Really?” Three pairs of eyes focused on me.

  I swallowed, straightened my shoulders, and said, “That is what Lady Kaldaire expects of me. And this would give me a chance to show off my motoring veils to someone else who might find them of use.”

  “Then I’ll send her a note and suggest we stop by in the morning while the men are all out racing about the countryside. Oh, I feel like I’m playing a role in a gothic novel.”

  The dowager Lady Linchester spoke with such enthusiasm that her daughter-in-law had to bite back a smile. “There’s no need. The Taylors are the noon stop tomorrow on the racing circuit. They’re hosting a picnic lunch at their home for all the racers and their guests.”

  The picnic would make it difficult to talk to Lady Taylor away from a houseful of guests. How would I get to speak to her alone?

  The dressing gong sounded, removing any chance I had to ask my question as the ladies rose and headed to their individual rooms and maids to get ready for dinner. I had a new concern.

  I was as vain as any other woman. I immediately began worrying whether my gowns would be adequate, and what would I do with my hair?

  Just before I needed to go down to dinner in my emerald green gown, the fanciest and practically the only one I owned, there was a knock on my door. Mary, Lady Kaldaire’s maid, popped her head in and said, “Her ladyship wanted me to check and see if I could do something with your hair.”

  That almost sounded like a command to make myself more presentable. I thought my hair always looked nice, but good manners made me say, “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  Using green ribbon, a brooch, and talent I didn’t possess, Mary soon had me looking like I belonged in the upper class. “You’re an artist, Mary.”

  She grinned. “Just let my mistress know you’re pleased.”

  “I will.”

  I went downstairs to find we were all gathering in the blue room to go into dinner. Deborah, Lady Linchester, came over and said, “We’re going in family style, since there are many more men than women tonight. No worrying about precedence, thank goodness.”

  Since no one was within hearing distance, I dared to say, “I thought all of you knew that system from the cradle.”

  “I wish. It’s when you get into the nuances, such as whose title is older, that it gets to be worrisome. And some of these men are unknown to any of us. George invites just anyone along.”

  I hoped none of them had followed us from London.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lord George, Deborah’s brother-in-law, came over to me and silently smiled. I had no idea if I was supposed to speak first or if he simply had nothing to say.

  “How was your racing this afternoon?”

  I’d apparently chosen the right topic, because I didn’t have to say another word while we waited to go in to dinner, or for the first two courses. Lord George told me everything there was to know about his vehicle, all the other racers, their families, and the course. Some of the other drivers sitting near us joined in the conversation from time to time, and dinner became a jolly event.

  I didn’t understand the first word any of them said, but I managed to smile and nod and exclaim at the proper times.

  Somewhere in the third course, Lord George said, “Golly. I’m not boring you, am I?”

  Oh, dear. I thought I had hidden my complete lack of comprehension or interest. I might as well sound like a simpleton. “Oh, no. I think you’re frightfully clever. I’m afraid this is all over my head, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much. I like to see people enjoy their pursuits.”

  “Golly.” He gazed on me with adoration. “Mummy thinks it’s dangerous and James thinks it’s a passing lark. You’re the first person to see how important it is to me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure others see how important—”

  “I was never very good at school. Father said it was good James came first to get the title. I’d be swindled out of the house and grounds in no time.” He looked down and took my hand. Then he glanced up into my eyes and said, “It’s nice to meet someone who thinks I’m clever.”

  “Oh, you must have mechanical talents to keep your motor running through these races. I’m sure you’re quite clever.” I tried to unobtrusively tug my hand away with no luck.

  Mercifully, one of the other motor carriage mad young men said something to him and my hand was forgotten. I slid it away.

  At the end of the meal, the ladies left for their coffee elsewhere, and I was spared hearing the end of a long discourse on brakes.

  Lord George didn’t speak to me after dinner, just smiled in passing. My ears needed a rest. I thought I’d had a lucky escape. But if we could travel so quickly to Rolling Badger, so could the killer in a fast motorcar.

  * * *

  The next morning, it took Lady Kaldaire, the Marchioness of Linchester, and the dowager’s lady’s maid to get the dowager marchioness moving at an early hour. To me, it felt like the middle of the day, but I was the only one of us who had to work for a living.

  We took the carriage over since Lord George was driving the motorcar in the race. James Whitaker, the Marquess of Linchester, was riding as his partner in case of breakdowns or becoming lost. Apparently, the race required teams of two in the motor carriages.

  When we arrived, we found Lady Taylor in the breakfast room with her female guests. Lady Linchester had been right. Lady Taylor was beautiful. Although she was near forty, her alabaster skin was as smooth as a girl’s. Her features were in perfect proportion, her figure slim, her movements graceful, and she had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. Nature had been much too kind to her.

  The female guests were all married to racing drivers and found it odd Lady Kaldaire and I were there without any connection to any of the automobiles in the race. But all of them had heard about Lord Kaldaire’s recent demise. Lady Kaldaire had no problem telling anyone who would listen that her dear friend Marjorie invited her to get her away from the unfeeling new Lord Kaldaire.

  Lady Kaldaire could spin stories out of thin air. She introduced me as a friend of the family who had tried to save the late Lord Kaldaire’s life and was now under threat by his killer. Scotland Yard had suggested we both leave London for a short time while they searched for the murderer.

  That was at least partially true, which seemed to suit Lady Kaldaire’s purposes. At least here she had dropped the pretense that I was going to design the interior of her new home.

  Except for thanking someone for handing me a cup of tea, I kept my mouth shut.

  The ladies chatted for a half hour, talking about people I either didn’t know or who were clients. I decided there was nothing I dare add to the conversation.

  The guests went upstairs to change for luncheon while Lady Taylor greeted women who w
ere arriving from neighboring country houses for the picnic. A few minutes later, Lady Taylor excused herself to get ready. Lady Kaldaire rose and followed her out of the room.

  I waited with the two Ladies Linchester and the women who had just arrived. After a minute or two, a maid came in and asked me to follow her. I excused myself and left the room.

  I was led upstairs to Lady Taylor’s boudoir, where I found Lady Taylor staring at Lady Kaldaire with a look that mixed fear and fury. Her lady’s maid stood off to the side, unsure of what to do.

  Lady Kaldaire focused her solemn gaze at Lady Taylor. “The question is how far will your husband go to protect your good name. Would he resort to murder?”

  I would have gladly put my hand over Lady Kaldaire’s mouth. This wasn’t how we should proceed if we wanted to learn the Taylors’ secrets.

  Amanda, Lady Taylor’s jaw dropped. Then she recovered, stepping toward Lady Kaldaire with an angry glare. “He most certainly would not. My reputation has never been in question. Who would he murder?”

  “My husband. I know your husband was in my house the night my husband was killed. I know they argued about whether you ended up with the proceeds from the DMLR railway stock.” Lady Kaldaire wore the expression of an avenging angel. “Did he kill my husband, Amanda?”

  Lady Taylor looked around the room, I suspected for an escape route from a lunatic. I couldn’t blame her. Lady Kaldaire certainly sounded mad. “No. Of course not. No one ended up with the proceeds from the stock. There was no money after the bankruptcy.”

  She looked at me for help, but I wasn’t going to save her. Keeping my tone level and quiet, I pointed out, “Other people were in financial straits because of the collapse of the stock. You weren’t.” And then it hit me. “Unless Commander Dennison sold his stock before the news got out about the bridge and the quicksand. He didn’t have any losses, and therefore neither did you.”

  She sighed and signaled to her maid which dress she wanted. Her maid slipped her into a dazzling white gown of muslin and lace, perfect for a picnic or garden party. While the maid buttoned her dress, Lady Taylor asked, “How did you find out?”