“I’m sorry. I only thought it appeared a trifle flamboyant.”
“Stylish, honey.”
“Yes.”
“Besides,” Veronica said, “my bracelet is ebony. I’m sure it must count.”
A broche pince of pink tourmaline and rock crystal shaped in a pyramid sat on the admittedly black band.
“It doesn’t look particularly sober,” Cora said.
“It’s French, honey.” Veronica linked arms with Cora and led her to a long table where the others were selecting cold meats and breads to put on their plates. “Do have some food. We might do some dancing after dinner.”
“We’re going to dance now,” Mr. Ardingley roared. “Somebody, play some piano.”
Randolph settled down on the piano seat.
“Did you know he could play?” Veronica asked.
Cora shook her head.
Possibly this could go quite poorly.
In the next moment Randolph placed his hands on the keys. He winked at Cora, and she stepped back.
And then Randolph played.
He’d chosen an upbeat melody, not caring that the length of time between the notes was minute, nor that his fingers had to practically dash across the keys.
“Well, I’m impressed.” Veronica turned to Cora. “Sorry, darling. I really must find Edmund. This calls for a dance.”
Mr. Ardingley seemed to have come to a similar conclusion for he swept Mrs. Ardingley into his arms, and she clung to him as he moved her across the makeshift dance floor.
“We should have had this event in the ballroom,” the dowager murmured. “My dear husband would be horrified to see them now.”
Cora glanced at the dowager duchess.
She should be the most distraught of all of them. The dowager duchess seemed to have gotten over her horror at her husband’s death and was already well on her way to enjoying an active widowhood. She glided about the room, ensuring that the servants were providing the best canapés and refilling their guests’ glasses.
Had she murdered her husband? Was she celebrating?
An uneasy feeling moved through Cora. It seemed wrong to partake in pleasures at such a point, and yet... who was she to question them? Once the police arrived and finished their inquiries, they would likely disperse.
“More champagne?” The butler lowered a silver platter filled with gold rimmed champagne flutes.
Cora inhaled the bubbly aroma, but she shook her head.
“Very well,” the butler said, moving to Veronica.
The music turned to a new song, but Mrs. Ardingley and Mr. Ardingley remained on the dance floor.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned.
Edmund stood before her. “It is ghastly how they’re all enjoying Father’s death, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t say they’re enjoying it,” Cora said loyally.
“Don’t,” Edmund said. “My eyes are fully functioning. I wasn’t aware that my sister-in-law’s lips were able to spread into such an upward direction.”
Cora giggled. “Perhaps they do seem a trifle relaxed.”
“That’s better,” Edmund said. “Now, tell me, which of them do you think did it?”
Cora jerked her head. “The inquest will determine if it was a murder.”
Edmund shrugged. “You and that strange photographer interviewed my childhood friend.”
Cora’s cheeks flushed.
“And I have relative faith in the ability of the servants to maintain the house well enough that the occupants are not accidently crushed by crystal objects,” Edmund continued.
“I’m sorry again for your loss,” Cora said.
“Don’t be. Even father would have been quite tickled about the uniqueness of his murder.”
“He didn’t seem happy about it when it happened,” Cora said, recalling the terrified scream.
“No,” Edmund said thoughtfully, “he didn’t.”
Cora nibbled on the bread and cheese.
“It feels sacrilegious to eat this in here,” Edmund said. “Father demanded five different courses at dinner.”
Cora ate the rest of her food and approached Randolph at the piano. “You play quite well.”
“Apparently you do the same.” He grinned. “Take a seat.”
Cora squeezed in beside him, conscious only inches separated them on the piano stool.
She moved her hands over the keys.
Music came easily to her.
It was comforting to know the order to place her fingers.
It was all written in black-and-white sheet notes before her.
The modicum of emotion she could add was just that—a modicum.
And in the meantime, she could let herself be carried away by the sweet melody.
“Honey!” Veronica approached them. “You shouldn’t be working.”
“It’s hardly work.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “You would think so. Not playing music was one of the chief benefits of getting adult roles. I haven’t played anything since my last Backyard Bonanza film. You should perhaps fetch the gramophone. Otherwise you’ll be tied to the piano all night.”
“I don’t mind.”
Veronica grinned and lowered her voice. “But Mr. Hall might.”
Cora flushed.
“I sent Gladys ages ago to get the gramophone, and she still hasn’t appeared. Would you please fetch it? Your heels are so much less tall than mine. I wouldn’t call them shoes at all.”
“Very well,” Cora said.
“You don’t have to do everything she desires,” Randolph said.
“I wouldn’t,” Cora said. “But this gives me the chance to find Gladys. She did want to tell me something important.”
“Yes.” Randolph’s face was inscrutable. “It’s good you remembered that.”
“Is everything all right?”
“It will be.”
Cora nodded and hurried up the stairs. “Gladys? Gladys?”
No servant came.
Well, it was late.
She’d wished the butler hadn’t chased the maid away. He had certainly had no interesting information to share with Randolph and herself.
Perhaps she should go downstairs.
She went to get the gramophone, and as she browsed through Veronica’s collection of records, a smile formed on her lips. Veronica only had big band music. No classical at all. She chose some records and left the room. The gramophone was somewhat unwieldy, and she wished she hadn’t grabbed so many records.
Still, she made her way down the stairs. At least Randolph would no longer be constrained to playing the piano.
The man did play remarkably well. She stepped off the staircase and onto one of the sumptuous Oriental carpets when—
The rug seemed to be pulled from beneath her.
Cora pitched forward.
The gramophone and records clattered to the floor.
Cora blinked.
The chandelier certainly was not supposed to be in her eyesight. The chandelier arms seemed to gleam menacingly at her, and with a start, she rolled off the carpet.
“Cora?” Randolph called out.
“Randolph!”
He rushed toward her. “I heard the commotion.”
“I fell.”
Someone had made her fall.
“I see that.” His lips didn’t twitch, and his expression exuded concern. Randolph offered her his hand and pulled her up easily.
“You were supposed to be playing piano,” Cora said.
“I didn’t like to see you wandering this big house by yourself. It can be dangerous.”
Cora nodded. Her breath seemed caught in her throat, and something must have shown on her face, for he swept her into his arms.
“My poor darling.”
“What was that racket?” Mr. and Mrs. Ardingley came through the corridor, followed soon by the others.
“I fell,” Cora said.
It seemed silly to say someone pulled up the carp
et.
She hadn’t seen anyone, and the first person who’d appeared had been Randolph.
“The gramophone looks ruined,” Veronica said in dismay.
“I’m sorry,” Cora murmured.
“Perhaps it wasn’t the most appropriate occasion after all,” Veronica conceded.
Cora gave her a wobbly smile.
Chapter Twenty-four
A DOOR SLAMMED, AND Cora jerked her eyes open.
“Forgive me, miss,” a woman wearing a maid’s uniform said. “I did not mean to wake you.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s just that I’m carrying all this tea,” the maid said apologetically. “Mind if I draw the curtains?”
“Go ahead,” Cora said, her voice groggy. Tea sounded absolutely delightful.
Shuffling sounded, and Cora realized some papers were being moved to the side and a tray set on the table near the door. The woman drew the drapes, and light spilled into the room.
The air remained far too frigid, and the rubber water bottle at the foot of her bed felt uncomfortable. She tightened the blanket about her. It seemed an inadequate barrier against the cold.
“I’ll come back and light the fire,” the new maid said. “But we thought you would like your tea now.” She hesitated. “Do you need any help dressing?”
“I can manage,” Cora said.
Relief inundated the woman’s face. “Oh, good. I ain’t never dressed anyone before. I would try not to pull the buttons off, but...”
“It’s fine,” Cora said. “I’m happy to manage on my own. Where is Gladys?”
“Oh, you miss ‘er already,” the maid said, her voice mournful. “I knew you would.”
“No,” Cora said quickly. “I-I was just curious.”
She hated the distraught sound in the woman’s voice.
“What’s your name?” Cora asked.
“It’s Becky, miss. And Miss Clarke—we ‘aven’t seen ‘er. I’m not supposed to be ‘ere. Golly, it is awfully grand.” She tilted her head toward the paneled ceiling.
“Yes,” Cora agreed.
“I wouldn’t be ‘ere,” the servant continued. “But the ‘ouse is full. Cook is busy with breakfast, and Gladys is gone.”
“She left? In this snow?” Cora glanced through the window.
The snow still fell, and large untouched snow drifts formed into a series of hills that Cora was sure had not existed when she arrived. The sky was a forbidding gray, and Cora’s stomach tightened.
Gladys had wanted to speak with her yesterday. Had it been important?
Had she known who the murderer was? Had she left to avoid him?
Or her?
Cora frowned.
Surely not.
After all, Gladys would have found a way to tell her or one of the head servants, if she’d known the murderer’s identity. It had sounded as if Gladys had had some sort of gossip. Had it been more serious than Gladys realized?
Cora rose from the bed. “We need to find her.”
The new maid’s eyes filled with tears. “I am that bad, am I?”
She handed Cora a teacup and saucer.
Milky tea spilled onto the saucer, and when Cora took a sip, the liquid was cold. Cora refrained from remarking on either imperfect state.
“Nonsense,” Cora assured her. “I’m just worried about her.”
“Nah,” the maid said. “Don’t worry. Gladys is always fine. She’s awfully clever. Even uses a typewriter.”
“Does she?”
The servant beamed. “Right complicated it is too knowing where all ‘em keys go.”
“Are you very good friends with her?” Cora asked.
“She’s my cousin,” the maid said. “Got me this job too. Only on a trial basis.” She frowned. “I don’t think the trial is going well. Cook says I’m lucky there are so many guests ‘ere and that there’s a blizzard and they can’t get anyone else.”
“I’m sure you’ll feel right at home with the job soon,” Cora said, and the maid beamed.
“I’ll go light the fire,” Becky said, nearing the Oriental screen that sat before it, guarding the room from any wayward sparks.
“Splendid.” Cora took a sip of tea. Earl Grey was becoming her favorite, and she appreciated the subtle hints of lemon.
An anguished scream filled the air.
Becky!
With trembling hands, Cora quickly fumbled her teacup back in its saucer. She sprang from the bed and scurried toward the maid. “What happened?”
Becky turned to her, her face white and distraught. “I’m afraid I found Gladys, miss.”
“How? Where?”
Becky pointed slowly to the fireplace.
A pair of legs stuck out. The legs could be termed shapely, and the ankles could certainly be termed thin. The shoes were glossy, patent leather, even though ash clung to them.
“I’ll—er—get her down,” Becky said, approaching the body.
“N-no. Perhaps the police—” She stopped as Becky jerked down the body.
It was Gladys.
Not Gladys as Cora knew her.
Not laughing.
Not touching up her makeup.
Not about to launch into some great gossip.
No, this Gladys was dead.
Cora’s heart constricted.
It was the second time she’d seen a dead body.
Gladys lay on her back, her eyes wide with shock. Bruises ravaged her neck.
“It’s ‘er,” the new maid wailed. She sank her head down. “Can you save ‘er, miss?”
Cora shook her head. “No one can. See how stiff her body is? She must have been dead for hours. Perhaps all night.”
“Oh, Lord.” The servant sank to her knees. “Poor Gladys.”
“Yes.”
It was tragic.
Oh, so tragic.
Guilt surged through Cora.
Gladys had wanted to tell her something yesterday evening, but she’d allowed Wexley to chase her away. Gladys had termed it gossip, and Cora had acquiesced to Gladys’s belief that it might not be important and was perhaps needlessly ridiculous.
Footsteps pattered in the corridor, no doubt alerted by Becky’s scream, and soon everyone stood in Cora’s room, assessing the maid’s body.
Chapter Twenty-five
“TWO MURDERS IN TWO days,” the dowager duchess moaned. “That is outrageous.”
Edmund frowned. “You weren’t sure the late duke’s death was a murder—”
“I’m certain now,” said the dowager duchess. “And please refer to him as your father. Not his occupation, no matter how much pride he found in it.”
Everyone gathered around the body, and Cora wrapped her robe more tightly around her. She’d been sad when the duke had died, but she hadn’t particularly liked him, and he’d had decades of partaking in sumptuous pleasure behind him.
Gladys, though, had scarcely lived. She’d wanted to do so, to be sure. She’d been bright and curious. Gladys hadn’t been involved in selling arms to a country that had fought a long and bloody battle with Britain a generation ago, and was rumored to be interested in having another go at a war, though this time with the intention of winning. Gladys didn’t have children to whom she was cruel.
Gladys had had her whole life before her, and even if others might make snide comments about her inability to stay quiet and her enthusiasm for everything fashionable, Cora was certain Gladys had never intended to harm anyone.
It seemed unimaginably cruel that someone had harmed Gladys in this manner.
“She wanted to speak with me yesterday,” Cora said sadly. “And then she changed her mind and had to return to the kitchen. If only I had insisted she tell me what was troubling her.”
“You think she was killed because she had information against someone?” Randolph asked.
Cora gave a miserable nod.
“What’s that in the chimney?” Lady Audrey asked.
“I don’t see—”
Lady Audrey bent down and pulled up a long piece of leather.
“That’s hardly elegant,” Veronica said. “Is that some horrid belt?”
“Gladys had excellent taste,” Becky said defensively.
“I don’t think Gladys would have used that as a belt.” Cora picked up the fabric. It looked—familiar.
Too familiar.
She glanced at Randolph. “Do you have your camera?”
“It’s in my room,”
“Why do you ask?” Edmund asked.
“I just think—it might be, I mean it looks awfully similar to—”
“A camera strap,” Veronica finished for her. “Honey, you really needn’t stammer so much. You added all sorts of unnecessary words.”
“I think someone else should search Randolph’s room,” Lady Audrey said.
“You don’t mean to think I would have done anything?” Randolph protested. “That’s nonsense.”
Distress moved through Cora.
Randolph knew spies—even the foreign ones.
Perhaps someone had hired Randolph to murder the duke.
He had arrived in the middle of the night.
Perhaps it was just like the dowager duchess had said—he was the strange man who’d killed the duke and then had had second thoughts about attempting to leave the property because of the snow.
“Becky, please bring us Mr. Hall’s camera,” the dowager ordered.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Becky curtsied and hurried from the room.
She came back quickly carrying a camera. Half of the strap was missing.
“She must have pulled it from his hand when he was killing her,” Mr. Ardingley said.
“How dreadful!” Mrs. Ardingley buried her head on her husband’s shoulder.
It is horrible.
Randolph had been perhaps an illusion.
Too perfect, too exquisite, too charming.
Cora’s throat tightened, as if she’d managed to swallow some strychnine.
There was no way for anyone except a stranger to kill the duke. They’d investigated, but found no one guilty.
There was a tree outside the window. Naturally, Randolph would have said it was impossible for someone to have climbed it. He’d been feeding her false information.
Gladys must have noticed something. That’s why she’d wanted to talk with Cora in private. And Cora had been so foolish that she’d mentioned it to Randolph, sealing that poor maid’s fate.
Calamity Under the Chandelier Page 14