Calamity Under the Chandelier

by Camilla Blythe

  SUSPICION FLICKERED over both Edmund’s and Lady Audrey’s faces.

  “The butler said we could use this room to conduct interviews,” Randolph said.

  “I suppose it would make it safer for those of us who are not vicious murderers,” Lady Audrey remarked.

  “If you think so,” Edmund acquiesced, and his gaze moved to the filing cabinet. “Still, I’m not comfortable with a stranger sorting through father’s things.”

  “Very well.” Randolph flashed Edmund a broad grin, but Cora suspected Randolph would find an occasion to search through the filing cabinet at a time when he did not have one of Britain’s highest ranked aristocrats looking disapprovingly at him.

  Lady Audrey shrugged. “What could he find? Besides, in a sense, he was your father’s employee.”

  “Right.” Edmund raked a hand through his hair. “Yes. I suppose so.” He frowned. “Did my father pay you yet, Mr. Hall? I wouldn’t want his death to have caused you any inconvenience.”

  “I was—er—paid in advance. It would be nice to speak with you about the event of last night,” Randolph said.

  “I already mentioned some details to Miss Clarke,” Edmund said quickly.

  Randolph nodded. “Perhaps Lady Audrey...”

  “Oh,” Lady Audrey said. “You want to question me?”

  “Please,” Randolph said.

  Lady Audrey settled opposite Randolph and Cora. She seemed a trifle uneasy and darted a glance toward Edmund.

  “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Randolph assured her.

  “I’m not.” Lady Audrey assessed Randolph. “You just look familiar. Have we met before?”

  He paused, but then grinned. “Only if you have a habit of getting in trouble with the law.”

  Lady Audrey’s cheeks turned a ruddy color, her embarrassment evidently not hampered by her abundance of freckles. “I must have been mistaken.”

  Edmund frowned. “I wouldn’t conflate being a private detective with the law.”

  “Then perhaps you have more to learn about the law,” Randolph said easily.

  “Hmph. I’ll leave you be.” Edmund exited the room.

  “What brings you to Chalcroft Park?” Randolph asked.

  “I grew up next door. In Oak Manor,” Lady Audrey said.

  “Mm...hmm. And how did you come to be invited?”

  Lady Audrey flushed. “I suppose you could say I was angling for an invitation. An utter mistake, given the circumstances.”

  “So they invited you out of pity?” Randolph asked.

  “Naturally not,” Lady Audrey said. “I offered to do a portrait of Edmund’s mother and the new—er—duchess.”

  “I see. And what did the late duke think about this?”

  “We got on well enough. He could be abrasive at times. He respected my family, though.”

  “It must have been difficult growing up near a man so prone to criticizing people.”

  Lady Audrey raised an eyebrow. “Rudeness is not a trait unique to him.” She smiled. “Murder would ruin my reputation; being a freeloader is sufficiently intolerable.”

  “Are you in dire economic straights?”

  “Nonsense. Most people are lining up at soup kitchens. Not me. But I’ve limited myself to only one maid and cook in my London townhouse. Quite disgraceful, I know.” She glanced at Cora. “I suppose you, of all people, can understand the convenience of accepting invitations to house parties.”

  Cora flushed. “You weren’t close to your parents?”

  “They always go to the French Riviera in winter. It would be nice to pop round to their house sometime, if this infernal snow ever clears. It’s within walking distance.”

  “So take us through the events of the night,” Randolph said, changing the subject. “What time did you arrive here?”

  “Oh, I’ve been here for several days already. It’s Thursday now? I arrived on Monday. They’re really not all that dreadful. I was painting Edmund’s mother.”

  “Did she like your portrait?”

  “Oh, I think she was amused enough by it. She didn’t like standing still much, and the duke naturally was not enthralled by the style, but on the whole, I suppose it was a positive experience.”

  “So you were alone here with the current duke.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, Edmund and I were able to catch up.”

  Something about her manner made Cora think about Veronica’s reaction to him. “Have you ever been romantically entwined with him?”

  “Edmund?” She laughed and then stopped. “Ages ago and utterly silly. We get along quite well. Always have.”

  “It would have been convenient to marry someone like him. Did you ever expect a proposal?”

  Lady Audrey smiled. “You sound like my aged grandmother. Edmund is...like a brother.”

  “Where were you when the duke died?” Cora asked.

  “In bed.”

  “Did you hear anything in the corridor?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I had. If he was really murdered—” She sighed. “I wish I could have prevented it somehow.”

  “Is there anything you remember that might be useful?”

  She frowned. “I heard footsteps outside my door at, hmm, perhaps ten o’clock.”

  Signor Palombi.

  “Who do you think may have killed the duke?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Ardingley despised him. They thought the duke should provide greater support to Mr. Ardingley.”

  “And what were your opinions on that?”

  “I thought the duke was already being remarkably generous. Most men don’t invite their byblows for the holidays. Most don’t even acknowledge their bastards, but everyone in society knows Rhys is the duke’s firstborn and illegitimate son.” She shrugged. “He should consider himself fortunate.”

  “Any other impressions?” Cora asked. “Was the duke stressed with anything? Perhaps business?”

  “Not business,” Lady Audrey said. “He liked to boast about how many people from different countries were approaching him. I do know he was deeply uncomfortable with Edmund’s new wife. I think Edmund’s parents always assumed that Edmund and I would marry. Veronica, of course, is nothing like me, and her past threatens the family’s reputation. The late duke was plotting how he might sever Edmund’s relationship with Veronica.”

  “Even though it’s a new dukedom?”

  “Especially because of that,” Lady Audrey said.

  “You can go,” Randolph said to Lady Audrey. “You’ve been helpful.”

  Lady Audrey nodded. She turned at the door. “Good luck. I hope you find the culprit.”

  “Thank you.” Cora smiled.

  Randolph rose immediately. “Let’s look through the filing cabinet.”

  “I don’t think I can go through his private things,” Cora said.

  “Then I’ll search it,” Randolph said.

  “Fine.”

  “You can fetch someone else for us to interview.”

  “Perhaps we should speak with the butler,” Cora said.

  “You think he had a motive?” Randolph asked.

  “It’s unlikely. He does have a good position. Why would he want to ruin that? All the same, perhaps he noticed something.”

  “Fine. Ring the bell for him.” He grinned. “You can keep watch outside.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  CORA EXITED THE LIBRARY.

  “Miss Clarke,” somebody whispered.

  Cora turned around, but didn’t see anybody.

  At least...not at first.

  But then Cora spotted the tips of a pair of distinctly plain shoes behind one of the oversized blue and white vases that seemed to adorn the manor house as if it had been at one time intended as a museum of the Orient.

  A head peeked out. Blonde locks fell under a starched cap.

  “Gladys?” Cora asked.

  Scarlet painted lips swept into a wide smile. “You’re here.”

  “Indeed.”

&n
bsp; “I had hoped you would be,” Gladys said. “I’m not exactly supposed to be in this section of the house.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not a footman,” Gladys said, frowning. “And it’s not morning, and the fires don’t need to be lit.”

  “I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”

  Gladys smiled. “Oh, I knew you wouldn’t, miss. You’re not like the others.”

  “Th-thank you,” Cora stammered.

  “I’m not playing hooky, miss,” Gladys said. “I think that’s the term you use in all those American films.”

  “Probably not the best weather for it,” Cora said.

  Gladys snorted. “Indeed not.”

  “Did you want to tell me something in particular?” Cora asked.

  Gladys’s cheeks turned rosy. “I’m probably being silly. It’s likely nothing, miss. And lord knows it’s not nice to gossip.”

  Cora waited for Gladys to continue. The maid seemed occupied with flicking her gaze this way or that, as if hoping to gain confidence from the furnishings.

  “But it might be important,” Gladys said. “I mean, if there hadn’t been a murder, I wouldn’t say anything, but...”

  “You can tell me,” Cora said.

  Gladys drew in a deep breath. “I never wanted to betray anyone’s trust. I’m a servant. I’m beholden to the family. And I do hate gossip.”

  Gladys’s eyes sparkled, and Cora almost smiled. She suspected that Gladys’s opinion of gossip was not entirely one of disdain.

  “Miss Brown!” A deep baritone voice barreled toward them. “What are you doing here? Do you not know what time it is?”

  The butler assessed Gladys. “You’ve got face paint on.”

  “Make up,” Gladys countered. “This isn’t the nineteenth century. Or some carnival.” Her lips twitched, and the butler’s glower strengthened.

  “Young lady,” the butler said. “You’ll get yourself in trouble one day.”

  Gladys lowered her head and left.

  “You rang for me, Miss Clarke?” Wexley said.

  “Mr. Randolph Hall did,” she said. “I’ll—er—just tell him you’re here. Perhaps you might—er—bring some tea for us first.”

  “Very well, Miss Clarke.” The butler left.

  Cora entered the library. “Wexley will soon be here with tea.”

  “Splendid.” Randolph shoved some papers inside a folder on the desk.

  “I spoke with one of the maids too,” Cora said, despising that her voice ascended too high, as if it were scaling the keys on the right side of the piano. “Gladys. She was here. And then the butler scolded her for being in this room. Isn’t that odd?”

  Randolph nodded slowly, but his face had a thoughtful expression.

  Perhaps the rule might not be considered particularly eccentric to English people.

  “She wanted to tell me something,” Cora said. “But she left before she could.”

  “I imagine it was about one of your dresses,” Randolph said. “Perhaps she wasn’t certain about the ironing technique for US clothes.”

  Cora frowned. “Surely it wouldn’t vary.”

  “You drive on the wrong side of the road,” Randolph said. “Who knows in what strange manner your dressmakers might fashion your garments?”

  Cora blinked. “Perhaps one of my clothes had a missing button.”

  “Right,” Randolph said. “Perhaps that was—er—more likely.”

  Wexley arrived soon after, and Randolph beamed. “Take a seat.”

  “Very well, Mr. Hall.”

  “Good. Tell me, have you gotten any word from the outside world?”

  “No,” Wexley sighed.

  “Have all the servants been accounted for?”

  “They’re all here. Except for young Billy of course. He volunteered to inform the police, since the telephone lines are still not working. I hope they can arrive tomorrow.”

  “How do you find working here?” Randolph asked.

  “This is certainly far better than most.” He smiled with the confidence of a man who’d worked all his life to get a good position and had achieved it.

  “How long have you been with this family?”

  “Some twenty years. I’ve known the new master since he was a boy. I started as a footman, though thankfully no one can remember that now.” He gazed into the middle distance, perhaps recollecting his well-positioned tables and prompt refilling at wine at dinner parties that at long last had earned him his promotion.

  “What are your impressions of your employers?”

  “It’s not my place to reflect on that,” Wexley said.

  “Someone here may have murdered someone else,” Randolph reminded him. “We just want to protect people.”

  “Anything you can say can be ever so helpful,” Cora said. “Even small things.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “We’ll compare it to what other people said. We might discover patterns, confirmations or strange contradictions that can lead us to the murderer.”

  “I suppose these are unconventional times,” Wexley said.

  “Can you please detail the events of this week?” Randolph asked. “Was there anything out of the ordinary? Anything that had upset the duke?”

  “The duke was given to being upset. He was passionate. Far better suited to be leading an army into battle. He might have made a good factory foreman as well, though we wouldn’t like to tell him that.”

  “Was there anything he was particularly concerned about this week?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything. The master might be dead, but he wouldn’t want me to divulge his secrets.” He tilted his head. “He was going to meet with his solicitor after Christmas.”

  “To change his will?”

  “I believe he was interested in making queries as to how he could limit his son’s access to his estate after his death. He was doing the same for his wife.” The butler’s lips twitched. “He was even considering donating to charity as a means of diminishing the extent of his son’s inheritance. One wonders how many charities have received money because of people’s discomfort with their relatives.”

  “The house, though, would still have passed to the duke?”

  “Yes. He is the heir.”

  “Do you have an opinion on who may have harmed him?”

  “Not at all. I was, as you know, in the servants’ quarters. I am afraid I can shed no light.”

  “Hmph. Thank you all the same.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  CORA HALF WONDERED if Gladys would appear in her room to dress her for dinner. But she did not. Most likely she had remembered that Cora was wearing her one black dress already and had deemed it not necessary to make an appearance. Cora was quite capable of putting on her jewelry by herself and she redid her makeup.

  She made her way downstairs. Perhaps one of the people in this manor house was a murderer, but she still possessed little desire to be by herself in her room.

  Darkness had fallen over the house once again, despite the servants’ valiant attempts to light fires and candles. Long shadows loomed over every room, and even objects like vases seemed imbued with sinister qualities.

  “Hello, Cora.” Randolph gave her his normal big smile when she entered the library. Her heart managed to flutter, and she frowned.

  She should be used to his presence by now.

  She raised her chin. What was so special about broad shoulders and chiseled facial features after all? Heavens knew that Hollywood had been filled with men of above average appearance.

  But somehow, Randolph was different. Randolph didn’t see her as a child actress, given to obediently reciting lines and learning complex choreography.

  He’d somehow managed to procure an evening suit, and he looked suave and cultured and utterly unlike the photographer figure she’d once imagined him to be.

  “The others are in the dining room,” he said.

  “You met them?” she asked.


  “All of them.”

  “And they were...”

  “Frosty. Fortunately, the blustery north wind rather prepares one for cold behavior, whether the temperature or the temperament sort.”

  “How fortuitous. And have you discovered the murderer?”

  “No. Though tonight promises to be fun. Mr. Ardingley managed to convince the dowager to hold a buffet.”

  “How terribly modern.”

  “His wife was apparently hiding the fact, even from him, that she’d regained strength in her legs, and he wants to use the occasion to celebrate her improved health,” Randolph said.

  Cora smiled, pleased Mrs. Ardingley had told her husband.

  Randolph scrutinized her. “You knew already.”

  “Not for long though.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Miss Clarke!” Mr. Ardingley’s voice was gleeful. “Come in here. It’s a party.”

  “Oh, Rhys,” the dowager hushed. “That might not be the correct word to use. Last night at this time my husband was busy dying.”

  “Today is a new day, and tomorrow a newer, better one still,” Mr. Ardingley said. “My wife, it seems, has experienced a miracle. She can walk.”

  “How wonderful,” Cora said.

  She didn’t mention that Mrs. Ardingley was the same woman she’d always been and walking should not influence the man’s opinion of her.

  “It’s jolly good news. She hid it for my sake,” Mr. Ardingley said. “She was worried the improvement of her health might incline my so swiftly departed father to not reserve any money for me in his will.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Ardingley beamed as if his wife had filled the Queen Mary high with red roses for him.

  “Ah, Cora!” Veronica waved at her from across the room. She wore a striking magenta gown and a sheer ebony scarf.

  Cora blinked.

  “You needn’t look so shocked, dear,” Veronica said. “You know quite well that I had no black evening gown. The scarf is black at least.”

  “It’s mostly see-through.”

  “So it is,” Veronica frowned. “Next time I will know that even if I’m not visiting anyone in the least bit ill, there is apparently a possibility that someone will be murdered during a snowstorm when all the shops are inaccessible.”