Ask Me No Questions

by Shelley Noble

  Phil held out her hand. “Unfortunate times, but I’m glad that I could be here for Bev … erly in her time of need.” She smiled benevolently at Bev, whose cheeks were almost as flushed as her eyes were red. Another day of crying was upon them. Not from missing Reggie, to be sure, probably from the inevitable chastisement from her father.

  “Allow me to introduce Mr. Everard Carmichael, Esquire. Everard is our family solicitor.”

  Philomena inclined her head to Mr. Carmichael, a slight, bespectacled man with thinning hair.

  “It’s a pleasure, Lady Dunbridge.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Phil said, wondering how soon she could politely make her exit.

  She looked toward Bev for a clue as to why she had been summoned.

  Bev jumped as if she’d been goosed. “I told Papa that you knew better than I what happened the day of…” She trailed off, circling her hand in the air as if to stir the nasty memory away.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Lady Dunbridge,” Sloane said, and gestured to the couch.

  So it was to be a morning without shopping.

  Bev sat in the chair usually reserved for John Atkins, and the two men pulled up secondary chairs. Phil was alone on the sofa as if she were holding court. Absurd.

  Sloane cleared his throat. “I’ve already spoken to Beverly on this point, but I shall reiterate it to you for I’m sure you will be in agreement.”

  Phil doubted it, but she gave him her almost undivided attention. She was keeping one eye on Bev for clues of what to say and what to agree to. They’d perfected this years ago at school, but Phil was rusty. She’d have to be careful.

  “That no more should be said to that detective—or any other policeman, I might add—without our solicitor present.”

  Carmichael’s mouth moved a minuscule amount, which Phil took as a reassuring smile, and nodded.

  “Not that we think Beverly or you have anything to do with Reggie’s unfortunate demise.”

  Phil cut a look to Bev. He thought Phil might be involved? Surely he jested.

  “I think that is wise advice,” Phil agreed. Though she would make her own decisions about John Atkins.

  Sloane seemed to relax a tad. Relief at having gotten his way? Which Phil thought was probably a rare occurrence when dealing with his daughter and her deceased husband. Or relief, because he actually thought Bev had killed her husband?

  “Which reminds me, Beverly. Please do not have Freddy intercede on your behalf in this case.

  “It was brought to my attention when I returned home late last night that he has already been meddling.” He paused to say to Phil, “I’ve been in Boston at a book exposition and returned to New York as soon as I could. And before I had time to hand my hat to the footman, I was summoned to the telephone.

  “It was someone whose name shall remain anonymous but who is the secretary of a powerful member of the mayor’s office. He was not amused at Freddy’s antics. He’d actually offered this particular secretary money to keep tabs on the investigation.”

  “I’m sure he was just trying to help,” Bev said, looking mortified.

  “I have no doubt Freddy means well, and he does have a minimal amount of clout among the lower orders—the beat men, the sergeants, the clerks—which is good as far as it goes, but in this instance he may have overstepped. He could do more harm than good if he continues.”

  He leaned ever so slightly toward Philomena and said in a confiding way, “Reggie had a reputation. It’s common knowledge that he was heavily in debt.”

  “Was he, indeed?” Phil said, trying not to think about the bundles of unpaid bills she’d discovered the night before. Did Bev’s father know about even half of them?

  “Yes, some paltry things, others not so. In fact, he owed rather substantial amounts to several people who’d rather not be dragged through the yellow press. All lent in good faith; no reason to sully their good names.”

  “Of course not.” Perhaps the lowlifes weren’t the only ones getting impatient for Reggie to pay up. Was one of them willing to kill Reggie and make him an example for others in the same situation?

  “If Freddy will just not muddy the waters, I have every confidence that the killer will be brought to justice forthwith. I don’t want to alarm either of you, but it might be better if Beverly returned home to me until her period of mourning is over. Lady Dunbridge, you of course are welcome also.”

  Here was something not anticipated. And not to Philomena’s liking at all. A quick glance at Bev told her Bev was about to throw a fit. Good. Phil would just sit back until Bev reached her peak, then she’d step in to save the day. She had no intention of wiling away her days in a house of mourning overseen by Daniel Sloane. And she was pretty sure Bev would balk.

  “Ridiculous,” Bev said.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but I must insist you close the brownstone.”

  “You can’t do that. You don’t own it. You gave it to me as my wedding present.”

  “So my daughter would have a nice place to live, not so your husband could squander his as well as your money, sell off the artwork and antiques and replace them with this cheap modern pornography. Some of those pieces were your mother’s favorites, bless her soul. And I shudder to think what he’s done with my library.”

  Phil thought first of the naked ladies on the painting that concealed the safe. There were plenty of others, and though some of them were painted by the masters, she wondered how many had been there in Daniel Sloane’s day. He might be pleased to see his desk hadn’t been sold, but he wouldn’t be pleased to find the number of bills it held. He might, however, be able to tell them what was in the safe. If he was willing to share, which Phil doubted.

  “Beverly, have the servants pack your bags. You’re coming home now.”

  “I most certainly will not. I’m not going to leave my home because Reggie was so inconsiderate to be killed in public. I could kill him myself for that.”

  “Don’t even hint at such a thing,” Sloane said. “The sooner they arrest this Florodora woman the better, but until then, I think it’s better that you live discreetly under your parent’s roof.”

  “I won’t. I’m a woman, not a child. And I have a life. And I have a houseguest.”

  Sloane glanced at Phil. “Are you certain that Lady Dunbridge wouldn’t rather be staying with some other friends who could show her about society instead of remaining in a house of mourning?”

  Bev blanched, shot a worried look to Phil.

  Here was her chance. Just be understanding and quietly make her exit. “I assure you, Mr. Sloane, that I consider it my duty as a friend to support Bev in her hour of need.” She sat back. There, she’d done it, sealed her fate and possibly the future of her two servants. But she couldn’t desert Bev now.

  Thank you, Bev mouthed.

  “Admirable, I’m sure,” Sloane said. “But I must insist. Go upstairs now, Beverly. Take what you need for a few days. I’ll send someone over for the rest of your things. Don’t argue. I’ve brought Carmichael here to go through Reggie’s papers. He’s a busy man. I sent to Brangle for a copy of the will.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving and you can’t see the papers,” Bev said defiantly. “The police took both Tuttle’s and Reggie’s keys and locked the door. No one is allowed to enter until the detective sergeant is finished with his investigation.”

  “Outrageous! We’ll just see about that.” Sloane leaped to his feet.

  Was he planning on breaking down the door? And why was it so important to get to the will today? Reggie wasn’t even buried yet.

  Carmichael made a deprecating cough. “Sir. I’ll talk to the commissioner this afternoon. Get this all sorted out.”

  “See that you do. In the meantime, I’ll just have to demand the keys from this detective what’s-his-name.”

  The door opened. Tuttle stepped inside. “Detective Sergeant Atkins to see you, madam.”

  * * *

  Atkins, obviously having learned how to ou
twit the recalcitrant rich, didn’t wait to be fetched but stepped into the room the moment he was announced.

  Phil fairly slumped in relief; she was half expecting Sergeant Becker.

  Sloane stepped forward and for a moment Phil thought he might actually attempt to push the detective out the door. But he merely stuck out his hand. “I hear you’re in charge of investigating the death of my son-in-law. What news have you brought us? Have you caught the infamous villain who did this?”

  Atkins shook hands. “The matter is still under investigation.”

  Sloane glanced at Carmichael. It seemed to Phil that he was a little chagrined. “I will, of course, help in any way I can, but I’d appreciate you not upsetting my daughter, she’s very much in shock. She’s only downstairs today because she insisted on doing her duty to those wishing to pay their respects.”

  Phil could have told him Atkins already had Bev’s measure, but she just sat back to watch the battle of wills.

  Atkins nodded slightly. “I wouldn’t think of upsetting Mrs. Reynolds.” Lord, Phil didn’t know how he managed to keep a straight face. Bev had pulled out all the stops with the beleaguered detective. “But I do have an investigation to run. And this is the scene of a crime.”

  “Crime? Here? I thought he was killed at the pier.”

  Atkins looked taken aback, but only for a split second. “I understand you have just returned to town and may not have heard. This residence was the scene of an additional murder.”

  “Who? How?”

  “As yet we don’t know his identity. And as for the rest, the details are part of an investigation.”

  “Preposterous.”

  He looked at Bev, who merely shrugged. “He was sitting at Reggie’s desk.”

  “At Reggie’s desk?” He turned on Atkins. “A burglar? A burglar managed to break into my daughter’s house? What do we pay you people for?”

  Atkins merely clasped his hands behind his back, Phil thought more in order to hide his clenched fists than withstanding Sloane’s storm of protest.

  Carmichael interceded. “As you can understand, the family is much upset.”

  “Upset? When a person isn’t safe in his own home. What was taken? When did this take place? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “An officer was sent to your residence as a courtesy and was told you were out of town.”

  “I was in Boston. I took the train back last night.” Sloane paled several shades. “You don’t mean someone in this household shot the intruder? Bully for him. I’ll give the man a raise.”

  “I wouldn’t be too previous if I were you.” Atkins shifted ever so slightly. “The complete circumstances of the incident here and those surrounding the death of Reginald Reynolds are still under investigation.”

  “What?” The one word exploded into the air. Philomena was surprised it didn’t send the chandeliers to tinkling. “Let’s not mince words, Atkins. Either Reggie’s mistress killed him or a thief did. As to the other business, the intruder got what he deserved.”

  “As I said…”

  “I don’t give a damn what you said, I—”

  The door opened. Tuttle stepped in, as stoic as ever except the slight dilation of his eyes. “Mrs. Tappington-Jones…” he intoned in his perfectly modulated voice.

  There was a profound silence as detective, publisher, and solicitor stared open-mouthed at the butler. Philomena barely resisted the urge to laugh out loud.

  Beside her, Bev stifled a snicker.

  Phil caught her eye, willed her not to start laughing. This onslaught had all the trappings of a Restoration comedy.

  “… has come to pay her condolences,” Tuttle finished and eased himself aside as a tall, buxom woman swept in.

  Daniel Sloane strode toward the newcomer. “Hilda, how kind of you to come.”

  She gave him her hand, which he pressed a little convulsively, Phil thought.

  “I came as soon as I heard. I am so sorry, Daniel. How is our Bev holding up?”

  “Our Bev” looked as if she might choke on chagrin or derision, it was difficult to tell. There was a story to be had about Mrs. Tappington-Jones.

  The woman dropped Sloane’s hand and pivoted toward Bev, all of a piece, somewhat like a luncheon epergne. Though on second thought it was her gold visiting suit and fruit-trimmed hat more than her shapely person.

  “My poor girl.” Mrs. Tappington-Jones wafted toward them.

  Bev rose at the same time, and for a split second, Phil feared a collision of heads.

  But Mrs. Tappington-Jones held up at the last minute, then clasped both of Bev’s hands in hers. “My poor, poor girl. Arthur sends his deepest condolences.”

  “Thank you. Won’t you sit down?” Bev motioned to the occasional chair next to the sofa and Mrs. Tappington-Jones sat.

  Carmichael cleared his throat.

  Sloane, who had been glaring at Atkins, was startled into action. “Well, we menfolk will leave you ladies to visit. Thank you so much for coming to support dear Beverly in her hour of need.”

  How many times had she heard that terribly inadequate phrase? Phil wondered. Bev’s hour of need was about to turn into a year of unrelenting loneliness.

  Mrs. Tappington-Jones smiled at him, letting the remnants of her expression slide over Carmichael and Atkins, as she turned back to Bev.

  Sloane gestured Atkins toward the door. Atkins had no choice but to follow. Carmichael lingered only long enough to nod to the ladies, then he followed them out.

  “Ah, child, what a terrible tragedy. I know that you are désolé.” Mrs. Tappington-Jones looked sympathetically at Bev. “But at least you have a dear friend to support you.”

  Phil doubted if Hilda considered Reggie’s death or Bev’s widowhood a tragedy. And Bev was anything but désolé.

  “Thank you, Hilda.” Bev sniffed, looked sad. “Forgive my lack of manners. Lady Dunbridge, may I introduce a dear friend of our family, Mrs. Tappington-Jones.”

  They did their how-do-you-dos perfunctorily. Since Hilda Tappington-Jones had come in instead of merely leaving her card, she wasn’t here for expressing condolences. She came for the “dirt.”

  “I don’t know what you must think of us, Lady Dunbridge, but Bev and I can both assure you that New York is a wonderful place to visit. And Bev, I’m just sick to death about what happened to Reggie. I couldn’t wait until after the funeral to let you know, that anything, anything I can do, please let me know.”

  She paused to smile at Phil. Phil knew where this was going, and she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Well, there is,” Bev said. “I’d promised to introduce Philomena to society and here she sits in the midst of tragedy and she hasn’t left the house once. I’m afraid I have been the worst hostess ever known.”

  “No one blames you in any way,” Mrs. Tappington-Jones assured her. “And I would be delighted to have Lady Dunbridge join us for social occasions.” Another smile at Philomena. “In fact, I would be honored if you’d come and stay with us while you’re here. I know Daniel will want Bev home with him until she’s feeling stronger.”

  Bev visibly gritted her teeth.

  “That is so very kind of you, Mrs. Tappington-Jones, and I do appreciate the offer, but I feel I can’t totally desert Bev. I just ended my own mourning, and I know how lonely that can be. I would however, be honored if you might show me about, as it were. Perhaps introduce me to a few people.”

  “Oh, my dear, it would be my pleasure. Everyone is quite aware of your arrival and will be so disappointed if you shun our society.”

  “I wouldn’t think of doing anything to disappoint,” Phil returned.

  “Then it’s decided, and you must begin by joining Arthur and me at a little dinner party we’re having on Thursday for a visiting Austrian dignitary.”

  Phil smiled, dipped her head. Well, it was a start. “I gladly accept. Thank you.”

  “Excellent. None of us would want you to miss out on the festivities.” Hild
a sighed. “I declare, this new idea of parties all the time keeps one busy from sunrise to the wee hours year-round. But I suppose it’s better than the way we used to do things, crammed all in between Christmas and Lent. It absolutely fagged one to death.

  “But no going back. Progress will out. Now I must take my leave. I’ll ask Daniel to accompany you. That way he can’t say no. He’s become such an old hermit since your mother died.”

  “Excellent idea,” Bev said. “I’m sure he will enjoy it immensely.”

  “Well, I must be going. Don’t hesitate to call for anything you need. And Lady Dunbridge, I expect to see you on Thursday. Bev, stay seated and rest. I’ll have Tuttle show me out.”

  As soon as she was gone, Bev let out a sigh. “She’s rather effusive, but we must put up with her. She was Father’s mistress at one time, and I believe they still catch a quick one now and then.” She waggled her eyebrows. “My father, imagine.”

  “I want to hear all about it, but not now.” Phil went to the door and poked her head out. “The coast is clear. I suggest you run upstairs and have a case of the vapors until Atkins takes himself off.”

  “Okay, but what are you going to do?”

  “If I’m to meet society, I must take my maid shopping. She’s not fit to be seen.”

  8

  A few minutes later, Phil trundled Lily and Preswick down the front stairs to Bev’s town carriage. She couldn’t wait to get away, just for a few minutes. This was not how she envisioned her first few days in America; she would be a good friend but, really, even good friends needed respite now and then.

  Bentley was waiting for them at the curb. Phil paused long enough to nod to the constable who was standing across the street.

  Phil climbed into the carriage, followed by Lily and Preswick, though he balked at riding inside. She just hoped he could hold on until they established their own living arrangements. And even then it wouldn’t be the same as running a full household. She hoped he would adjust to their new life.

  Bev had given her the names and addresses of several salons with an introductory letter, but Phil was not shopping for herself today. Tuttle had given them the address of a shop that clothed domestic workers and several nearby shops where they would be able to buy the girl an acceptable wardrobe.