Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

  Louisa admonished herself: she must be wary of reading into things simply because she and Guy believed themselves to be on the brink of solving the murder. They very well might not be, after all.

  As everyone had arrived, Mrs Windsor had given them a glass of champagne and they all stood on the rug in front of the fire, talking in low voices. There was an air of expectation, of waiting for the party to really start. Then there was a cold rush of air as the door opened and Oliver Watney came in. He cut an unprepossessing sight even in his evening clothes and round glasses, rather like Guy’s. Apologising for his lateness he explained that the car was waiting outside, ready to take Lord and Lady Redesdale to dinner with his parents.

  ‘That’s our cue,’ said Lord Redesdale with undisguised gratitude in his voice. These were not his people.

  ‘Happy New Year, everyone,’ said Lady Redesdale with bright finality, but concern creased her brow. The shock of Adrian Curtis’s death so close to the house was something she had not yet recovered from and neither she nor her husband enjoyed being at the centre of scurrilous gossip, whether in the village or further afield. ‘One should only ever appear in the newspapers three times,’ Lord Redesdale had said more than once. ‘Birth, marriage and death.’ Nancy always wrinkled her nose at this.

  ‘Yes, happy New Year.’ There was a short pause while Lord Redesdale put his glass down on a side table and straightened up. ‘Behave yourselves. Nancy, don’t do your usual thing of changing the clocks tonight, will you?’

  Nancy looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Farve.’

  ‘Yes, you do. All this nonsense of putting them back by half an hour. It’s not good for the clocks and then when you reset them you never do it properly. The one in the drawing room was out by three minutes for weeks after Pamela’s dance.’

  This reference, however slight, to the fated evening of Adrian’s death sent a chill through the room. But Nancy spread her hands open wide. ‘You don’t need to worry, old thing. Off you both go now and have a lovely time. We’ll see you for luncheon tomorrow.’

  Behind the door, Louisa and Guy held each other’s gaze with bated breath. Their moment in the spotlight had drawn near.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  When Lord and Lady Redesdale had left the room with Diana, followed by Mrs Windsor, anxious as ever to ensure every detail of her employers’ comfort, Pamela walked into Louisa and Guy’s eyeline, indicating with a signal that they should step out now.

  At the same time, Nancy exhorted her guests to find somewhere comfortable to sit. ‘We have something planned,’ she said grandly. ‘A sort of play, if you like, only we will all be the actors in it and I think you already know your lines.’

  ‘Oh, marvellous,’ said Clara. ‘Now you can all see what I can do, instead of teasing me about it.’ She flashed a look in Ted’s direction when she said this.

  Guy coughed. ‘Excuse me, Miss Mitford, but I don’t think we should underestimate the seriousness of this.’ All the guests turned to him then, bewilderment on their faces.

  Unlike them, Guy was not dressed in white tie but in his best suit. Best for him, at any rate. Louisa was in her usual work dress, though her bobbed hair and pretty face made her a match for any high-society beauty. In Guy’s eyes at least.

  Nancy, not wishing to lose her position as ringmaster, waved an arm towards Guy, encouraging him to continue.

  All eyes upon him but reassured by Louisa’s presence at his side, Guy spoke again, with a little more volume than before. ‘Good evening. I will try not to take up too much of your time.’ He looked at the expectant faces before him and tried not to cough, despite what felt like a hair caught in his throat. Just then, Sebastian turned sideways to light his cigarette from a candle on the chimneypiece and as the flare lit Guy realised that he definitely had been the man buying the cocaine from Billy Masters outside the 43.

  ‘You may not be aware but recently I was involved in the capture and arrest of some notorious London criminals—’

  ‘Yes, I heard about this,’ Clara interrupted, animated by the news. ‘There was a riot and they caught this famous gang leader, Alice Diamond. A woman!’

  Two spots of colour appeared in Guy’s cheeks. ‘That’s the one,’ he said. ‘On the same night, I arrested a man called Billy Masters…’ Ted reacted to this, as he had expected; only a twitch, covered up by a big gulp of his drink, but a reaction nonetheless. ‘While he has been remanded on other charges, I discovered that he had been at the bell tower on the night of Mr Curtis’s death.’

  This time there was a reaction from everybody of varying kinds. Nancy looked merely satisfied to have shocked them all, whereas Pamela was worried as to how this would turn out. Charlotte looked upset and Clara began to comfort her, only to have her hand shrugged off. Phoebe smiled, as if unaware that this was a real crime that was being discussed here. Sebastian raised an eyebrow and threw his cigarette into the fire. Oliver Watney started coughing, as if his drink had gone down the wrong way. Ted had gone five shades paler and started stammering.

  ‘What was he doing here? Do you know? What was he after?’

  ‘That’s just it, your lordship,’ said Guy. Louisa had carefully explained earlier who was who. ‘He has explained to us that he arranged to meet Miss Dulcie Long, to take possession of the jewels she had stolen. He often worked for the gang I mentioned just now, selling on their goods. But we have reason to believe that some of you in this room may know him, and in order to rule you out of the murder enquiry, we need to establish what connections there are, if any.’

  Ted stood up, having gone in an instant from white to pink. ‘This is absolutely outrageous! What are you suggesting? There is no more murder enquiry; there is a woman in prison awaiting trial and a sentence. The case has been closed. How dare you come here and accuse us!’

  Nancy giggled, which only made Ted worse. He marched over to a small tray that had been put out by Mrs Windsor earlier with decanters of whisky and port and poured himself a large drink.

  ‘We have strong reason to believe that Miss Long did not commit the murder,’ said Guy.

  ‘What reasons?’ Charlotte said this, her dark eyes like deep wells of water.

  ‘Billy Masters has told us that he never met Miss Long at the arranged hour because when he arrived at the church he heard an argument between Mr Curtis and another man; that he heard Mr Curtis fall and then saw the second man run away.’

  ‘Could he identify this second man?’ Sebastian had not sat back down again after lighting his last cigarette.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Guy. ‘Not clearly. He was wearing a hood and cloak.’

  ‘So you’ve chosen to believe the word of a convicted criminal that he arrived at the church and heard something, then saw a man he can’t identify run away. Oh yes, officer, you’ve got one of us bang to rights.’ Sebastian laughed and turned to Nancy. ‘Honestly, darling, you’re going to have to do better than this for our entertainment tonight. Is this really what we’ve turned down Loelia Ponsonby’s party for?’

  Nancy looked crestfallen and Charlotte gave Sebastian a glare but he ignored her.

  Louisa gave Guy a tiny nudge at his back. Encouragement.

  ‘We thought perhaps, if everyone was willing, we might stage a re-enactment of the evening—’

  ‘No.’ Charlotte said this firmly and loudly as she stood. ‘Nancy, I don’t know what you’re playing at but this is too awful of you. As if I could bear to be a part of this charade. My brother died, in case you didn’t notice.’ She choked back a sob and went to the drinks tray where Ted put his arm around her, Sebastian watching every move. ‘Pour me a large drink,’ she muttered to Ted.

  Guy was at a loss. He realised now he’d been seduced by the house somehow, that he had come to believe in his powers after the arrest of Billy Masters and thought he could do this. Of course, it was ridiculous. Expecting them to go through it all again. If one of them was guilty they would hardly confess, would they
?

  No, they would have to do it in a more traditional fashion: by process of elimination.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Much to Louisa’s surprise, it was Pamela who spoke up first in the bewildered silence. ‘Don’t you all want this solved?’ she asked the room.

  ‘But it has been solved. Dulcie Long is in prison,’ said Clara.

  ‘Haven’t you been listening? Billy Masters has admitted that there was no sign of Dulcie when Adrian was killed.’

  ‘You English don’t pull punches when it comes to stating the facts, do you?’ Clara muttered. ‘Where I come from we use gentler phrases like “passed away”.’

  ‘That’s the whole point,’ Nancy replied. ‘There was nothing gentle about it. That’s why it has to be resolved.’ She turned to Guy. ‘Is it possible that Billy Masters did it, and he’s just throwing you off the scent?’

  Guy shifted on his feet. Nancy made him feel as if he was in the dock and she a stern barrister. ‘Of course, it’s possible.’

  ‘He’s not exactly honest, is he? It could be no more than a clever bluff to admit guilt to the other things, in the hope that you would be distracted from the really major one.’ Nancy was in her stride now and the others were hanging on to her words.

  Nancy walked into the centre of the room to address everyone at once. ‘We were all there and we are all innocent. I say we help Sergeant Sullivan go through the movements of that night. It might tell him more accurately where and when everybody was and then we can see for once and for all whether it was Billy Masters or Dulcie Long.’

  ‘Or the two of them together,’ said Ted.

  ‘Or indeed that,’ agreed Pamela.

  There was a slam as Charlotte put down her cut-glass tumbler. ‘You all do what you want to do. I am having no part of it.’ She left the library and exited through the Cloisters, presumably back to the house and her room.

  Clara went to follow her out but Nancy held her back. ‘Leave her,’ she said. ‘She can’t go anywhere. There are no trains and Hooper won’t be driving her back to London. She might calm down and join us again later.’

  Phoebe sidled up to Sebastian and put her long, white arm around his neck, tipping her pretty head onto his chest. ‘Don’t be sad, darling.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said tersely and pushed her off. Phoebe shrugged and went to pour herself another glass of champagne but she blinked back tears as she did so.

  ‘Your ankle is better then, Miss Phoebe?’ said Louisa, definitely loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Phoebe looked up, surprised. ‘Um, yes,’ she said. ‘It was nothing, really.’

  ‘Nothing because you hadn’t sprained it at all?’ Guy had interjected this time.

  Nancy looked at him sharply. ‘What’s going on?’

  He ignored her and carried on. ‘You told Miss Cannon that you faked your ankle sprain, so that you might be left alone in the drawing room with Mr Atlas.’ This wasn’t a question.

  Unable to evade this, Phoebe gave a bitter laugh. ‘Yes, so what?’

  ‘You’re lucky Charlotte’s left the room,’ said Clara, earning her a vicious look from Phoebe.

  ‘Which means that your alibi was not real,’ said Guy, with confidence. ‘You could have left the room at any point and met Mr Curtis, to go with him to the bell tower.’

  Phoebe did not have any real friends in the room, thought Louisa. Nobody leapt to her defence. Sebastian smirked and lit another cigarette, watching her coolly.

  ‘What sort of question is that?’ Phoebe tipped her drink back and took a large swallow.

  ‘It’s not a question,’ said Guy. ‘You were alone in the drawing room at some point – we know Mr Atlas left to give Miss Pamela Mitford a birthday present. Could you have slipped out then?’

  Phoebe neither agreed nor disagreed with this statement but took another gulp and looked around her. ‘Aren’t any of you going to say something?’

  But nobody responded.

  ‘Fine,’ snapped Phoebe. ‘I did leave the room shortly after Sebastian left.’ She paused and seemed to think it through before carrying on. ‘I went through the French windows and stepped outside. It was cold and I was only in my costume so I didn’t want to stay out there for long. I just wanted a bit of time to myself because…’

  ‘Because?’ prompted Guy.

  ‘I wanted a quick sniff, if you get my meaning. And I didn’t want to share, so I didn’t want anyone to see me. I couldn’t tell that ghastly inspector man or he would have charged me.’ She tried to look insouciant, and failed. ‘I couldn’t have stood it if my mother had found out.’

  ‘A sniff?’ asked Pamela, quietly.

  ‘Cocaine,’ said Nancy. ‘Do you really know nothing?’

  Pamela blushed but said no more.

  ‘Not that I approve,’ Nancy added with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I’m hardly the only one,’ Phoebe retorted. Then she sat down on the sofa, near to the fire and cut off any further conversation by staring intently into the flames.

  One down, thought Guy, five to go.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Mrs Windsor came into the room and if she was startled by the silence and the sight of Guy and Louisa standing before the guests as if delivering a speech, she was too professional to show it. ‘Dinner will be served shortly,’ she said, directing herself towards Nancy.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Windsor,’ Nancy replied, as confident as any mistress. The housekeeper left and there was an expectant hush hanging in the air.

  ‘Should we wait for Charlotte?’ said Clara.

  ‘No,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘You’re a man of so many words,’ Nancy said with a smile, but he didn’t return it.

  The lull was on the verge of becoming a self-conscious embarrassment when Guy spoke. Louisa felt a surge of pride at his calm, when she knew how he must feel to be standing before this room of glamorous young people, any one of whom a newspaper editor would have been thrilled to have photographed on the society page. She only hoped that none of what transpired that night would put them by the headlines.

  ‘I apologise for this but I need to establish a few more facts,’ said Guy. He pulled out his notebook and flicked through a few pages to find his place.

  Oliver, who had been completely quiet until then, called out: ‘I say, is this meant to be a game? Because it seems most awfully serious to me. I mean, I don’t know what the rest of you are thinking but I think I’d prefer a round of rummy.’ He gave an attempt at a smile – not something his face was built to do easily – and Pamela gave him a sympathetic look back.

  ‘It isn’t a game.’

  ‘Oh, righto. I suppose you’d better carry on then,’ said Oliver, waving a hand at Guy as if signalling to him to continue, before lapsing into a minor coughing fit. Pamela fetched him a glass of water and then sat back down again, her hands folded in her lap.

  ‘Lord De Clifford, if I could check on your movements for that evening?’

  ‘If you insist,’ said Ted, seated now beside Clara. ‘Although like the others, I am finding this rather tiresome. We’ve already spoken to the inspector.’ He leaned back onto the sofa and spoke out into the air, as if sending his words out like arrows from a bow. ‘I doubt you have any official right to do this. There will be a trial soon and we may any of us be called as witnesses. This whole conversation could be against the law.’

  This was a weak spot, Louisa knew. She wondered, could Guy be charged with impersonating a policeman if he wasn’t in uniform but asking questions of witnesses? Witnesses on a case that was not his investigation? Could this be classed as interfering with witnesses? The one thing they had on their side was the final piece of the jigsaw they had both found that meant they were certain they had their man. If they got him tonight, surely any judge would gloss over the means they used to get him?

  Guy pressed on. ‘I believe that at the moment Miss Long was heard screaming outside, you were alone in the boot room. Is that right?’

 
; ‘I’m not answering these irrational questions.’

  ‘The reason it’s important, your lordship, is because there is compelling evidence to show that you had previously made the acquaintance of Billy Masters.’

  At this, Ted sat up. ‘What evidence?’

  ‘Billy Masters has confirmed that he met you at the 43 nightclub on several occasions. The one owned by your fiancée’s mother.’

  ‘I’m not denying I go to the 43 but all sorts of rogues go there.’ At this, Ted gave a half-hearted chuckle. ‘That doesn’t mean I know them. He knows who I am, of course – everyone does, because Dolly’s been running the place for the last few months. He’s told you he knows me to make it look like he’s got some sort of influence, I suppose. Well, he bloody hasn’t.’

  ‘How do you know what sort of influence he has?’ Guy was settling into his role as interviewer. The harder they threw their punches, the quicker he dodged the blows.