by Michelle Cox
I believe everyone at the wedding enjoyed themselves, even Ma to the extent that she enjoys anything these days, having been reunited, it seems, with a couple of old friends. The food, of course, was so delicious! I’ve never tasted anything quite so lovely, though, as you know, I usually just like plain food. The best part, I must say, was the music. I still cannot believe that Clive hired Helen Forrest to sing! I’ve never heard of something more romantic, even in all the novels I’ve read. I had hoped that I might have more dances with Stanley, but it turns out I spent more time with Lieutenant Barnes-Smith, or Harrison, as he has asked me to call him. Indeed, I believe Stanley got into a bit of a scuffle in the parking lot over some friend of yours named Rose, whom, he told me, was in trouble.
At this point in the letter, Henrietta rubbed her eyes wearily before continuing.
I had not seen Stanley these many long weeks since the wedding until just yesterday, but I will get to that in a minute—as it is my main purpose in writing to you. Harrison, on the other hand, has been to see me a number of times to inquire after the state of my ankle, which I inadvertently twisted (did you know?) at the end of the reception. Luckily, Harrison was nearby at the time to come to my aid and to help me and Ma get into one of the cars. Harrison has been quite a chum, really, coming to see me and making me laugh. I know what you’re thinking, Henrietta, that I should not have received him without a chaperone, but Ma was upstairs and there are always servants hovering around, so I didn’t think it would be so terribly improper, though I know Mrs. Hutchings would have said so. I have gone walking in the park with him on a number of occasions now, and find I enjoy his company very much and feel he has been wronged in many ways. Aunt Agatha has warned me that he is quite bad news, but I don’t find him so at all.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start again. It all began when Aunt Agatha had me to tea shortly after the wedding. She suggested that I come and stay with them, for extended periods of time, to which I could not agree. (What would happen to Ma and the boys and, of course, Doris, if I did that?) She informed me in no uncertain terms that it was Grandfather Exley’s express wish that I come out into society to make a good match and that I must stay with Uncle John and Aunt Agatha to that end, as Mrs. Hutchings didn’t work out. Under immense pressure (you believe me, don’t you, Hen?) I agreed to come for a part of each week rather than abandon Ma completely. I expected Ma to rant and rave when I finally got up the courage to tell her, but instead she just gave a little gesture like a shrug and went back to her magazine. To tell the truth, Hen, I am very worried about her. She spends almost all day in her room. The pills that Dr. Lawson gave us help her, but she is very lethargic all day, as if she doesn’t care about anything anymore. Not that she ever did before, but at least she would argue now and again. For the life of me, I never thought I would list her indifference as a good thing. Now she does nothing and seems to have no opinion on anything. I confess I am at my wit’s end and don’t know what to do.
But again, I am digressing. As I was saying, I have gone to stay with Aunt Agatha and Uncle John just one time so far and found that it wasn’t so bad as I expected. They took me to see Twelfth Night, which I dearly loved. They are quite kind, actually, and tell me that I am to have a coming-out ball in the spring and are most anxious to introduce me to various young men.
And this is the terrible flaw in this whole arrangement—I am to give up Stanley, whom they say is unsuitable! At first this caused me great distress, as you can well imagine, and I resolved to hold on to him despite all. The problem, however, was that I had not actually seen Stanley, as I mentioned, in these weeks since the wedding. I determined, then, after Aunt Agatha’s injunction to me to give him up, to seek him out no matter how brazenly bold that might appear so that I could be reassured of our mutual understanding before walking into the fire for him, as it were. Accordingly, I went to the electrics just yesterday and tried to time it for his shift’s end, so that I might catch him as he came out, not wanting to go to his house and have to face his mother. I suppose I could have used the telephone, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I waited, then, outside the gate, and—oh, Hen—I can hardly write this—I finally saw him. I started to wave, but then I saw none other than this Rose, whom I mentioned at the beginning of this letter, come up to him from another direction and take his arm. And then—then she gave him a kiss on the cheek as they walked down the street together! They did not necessarily seem all that romantic, but how can this be explained any other way? It brought tears to my eyes, and, I confess, it has done on many occasions since. Oh, Hen! What am I to do? Perhaps I should do what everyone wants me to do and give him up, but the thought of it makes my heart clench. Still, another part of me is terribly distressed—shall I even say, angry?—to have seen him as such! Perhaps he is not the man I thought he was …
Meanwhile, I seem to have the opposite problem with Harrison. I only meant to be friendly with him, but he seems to grow more attached each day, much to my distress. He is gorgeously handsome, I’ll admit, which makes me a bit uneasy, really, as I feel I am so far beneath his notice. Be honest, Hen! I can’t imagine what he finds attractive about me, and Aunt Agatha says he is clearly after the Exley money and that he has engaged himself to several young ladies in the past in the hopes of securing an easy life, is how she described it. She would be beside herself if she knew I walk in the park with him sometimes, but when I confronted him (I did, Hen! Aren’t you proud?) about these engagements, he says that those are ugly, unfounded rumors that he has ever been the subject of, though he knows not why. He had a very sad and lonely boyhood, Hen, and I feel quite sorry for him. He says that he is frequently misunderstood by people and that he is not the villain people imagine him to be. Oh, Hen, I quite agree with him. If only people got to know him, they would see what a nice, honorable gentleman he really is. He told me the whole sad story of himself and a Miss Stewart, of which much misunderstanding abounds. I will not go into all of that here, but suffice it to say he was quite innocent of any wrongdoing!
So you see, Hen, I am quite at a loss as to what to do next. I thought I loved Stanley, but now I am not so sure. If I am honest, I must concede that he loved you first, not me, and that I was a sort of consolation prize for him. It cuts me to the quick to write it, but I cannot see any other explanation. My mind unfortunately wonders if you had a hand in encouraging him in this, but I realize I am being unfair to you, that you would never have done such a thing.
Henrietta bit her lip.
Meanwhile, Harrison seems to find my company interesting, and I his, but I am not to see him, and I’m sure grandfather would never permit him to court me, should he even want to, which I realize is awfully presumptuous on my part to even suppose.
As for everything else, it is going as well as can be expected, I guess. We have still no letter from Eugene, though I have heard from Aunt Agatha, who has heard it from Grandfather, that he is progressing well and that his commanding officers think highly of him. Ma I have already reported on. Eddie and Herb continue at school, though Eddie has been getting into more and more fights, and Herb has been sick again. Jimmy asks about you daily. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Hennessey at Mass last week, and they always ask after you as well. They have had some happy news. Their daughter it seems is going to have a baby, though she lives quite far away, as I understand it. Still, they were very happy and went on and on about it, as you can imagine. They send their love.
I must close this letter now, as it is quite thick and will be expensive to post all the way to England, though I suppose that isn’t a worry for us anymore, is it? Still, old habits are hard to break, though I guess they weren’t for you. I try to be like you, Henrietta, but I find it hard. Perhaps Stanley is just a form of old habit himself, not the love I once thought? And how should I proceed with Harrison? I do not wish to end our friendship, though I feel this would be the most proper thing to do, but I am often lonely, despite my visits to Aunt Agatha, and he makes me laugh. I w
ould welcome any advice you have to offer, that is if you have any time to spare among all of the lovely parties you are surely attending. What is the library like? I’m sure it is immense! I hope that Clive is proving to be a kind husband and that you are happy. Please give him my love.
Your loving sister,
Elsie
Henrietta folded the letter and looked out the window with a sigh. Steaks of sunshine were trying their best to break through the autumn gray. How had things progressed so quickly? she wondered. And what was she to do with this mess? What could she do? She wished she were not an ocean away; clearly Elsie needed help and advice, something she should have been giving her all along. She felt like such a thoughtless, inattentive sister, unaware as to what was happening in Elsie’s life, and yet when she left, she had thought everything was fine between Elsie and Stan; indeed, she had been expecting an announcement from them, especially given what Elsie had told her in whispered exchanges from time to time.
How dare Stan! she fumed as she stood up and began to pace around her bedchamber now. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know that Rose was a lesbian? And what was Rose playing at? Meeting him after work and kissing him on the cheek? Something wasn’t right, she mused, as she stopped pacing and took hold of one of the bedposts. She remembered then what Lucy had told her about some women subduing their true feelings for the sake of getting a husband and family. Or that some women were just experimenting. But had she meant experimenting with women, or experimenting with men? And to what purpose? And could women—or men, for that matter, uncomfortably thinking of Eugene—really change their inclinations? Perhaps through medical treatment or even prayer? Or was it just a state of mind? Henrietta wasn’t sure and resolved to ask Lucy the next time she saw her. But why Stan? Was he Rose’s target for a husband and family? Didn’t she know he was Elsie’s? She didn’t think Rose would knowingly betray her after all they had been through at the Marlowe. Perhaps Elsie misunderstood what she saw? But why had Stan stayed away so long? Was he jealous of Barnes-Smith? Henrietta could definitely see that, but still. His normal reaction would have been to confront the issue with his inflated ego, not slink away in surrender.
And that was another thing. What about the lieutenant? From Elsie’s description, she seemed to unwittingly be his latest conquest if Henrietta was reading correctly between the lines, which actually distressed her more than the debacle with Stan. Elsie’s reputation could easily be ruined by him, she knew, or worse. Henrietta enjoyed Major Barnes-Smith’s company and did not dissuade Clive from asking him to be his best man, but she did not particularly like his nephew. She had seen this type before, very charming on the surface but with faulty manners that were somehow greasy. The type that was always on the lookout for the next opportunity and, much as she didn’t want to admit it, Aunt Agatha was probably right, he was probably after what he assumed would be a large Exley dowry. Regardless, he was obviously toying with Elsie’s sweet nature and compassion.
And what of this arrangement Agatha and John were forcing upon poor Elsie? It was obvious to Henrietta that Mr. Exley Sr. meant to use Elsie to make a good match, as she herself had done by marrying into the Howards, a particularly sweet coup for Mr. Exley Sr., though he had obviously not had anything to do with bringing it about. Who knew what or who he had in mind for Elsie. How dare they demand Elsie to give up Stan! Henrietta had worked hard to bring them together; they were perfect for each other, that was obvious! And yet, they seemed to be coming apart now of their own accord … Oh, Stan! she fumed again. This was clearly his fault; how could he be so stupid to give up the one woman who truly loves him for a … a lesbian?
Slowly she roused herself from her disjointed thoughts. Again she wished she wasn’t so far away. Clearly she would have to get a letter off as soon as possible. She considered ringing for Phoebe, but for what purpose she wasn’t sure. She didn’t need to change just yet if she were staying in her room to write. She supposed she just wanted someone to talk to, but Phoebe was not Edna, nor was she Elsie, for that matter. And the one she really desired to talk with, she realized with an irritated sniff as she sat at the little desk arranged neatly by the other window, was at the moment beyond her reach and apparently did not wish for her to join his conversation.
—
As Clive accompanied Lord Linley into the study, he tried to keep his mind clear. He missed detective work more than he had thought he would, and he could not help feeling more than just slightly interested in the case before them. He reminded himself, though, that it was not his case and that the local constabulary would most probably resent any help he might offer, anyway. Besides, he wasn’t so sure how much help he would really be, having lost some of his confidence after the last two cases. But that was because they had also involved Henrietta, he countered with himself, and he had been biased in his assessment of the details and the level of the threat. Still, he could not help feeling unsure of his abilities as he walked into the study, but he was determined to hide his misgivings.
Inspector Hartle was standing in the middle of the room, hat in hand, swirling it lazily with his finger while he peered at some of the masterpieces on the wall. When he saw Lord Linley enter, he approached him with just the required amount of deference, but no more, and reached out his hand to shake that of his superior.
“Detective Chief Inspector John Hartle at your service, Lord Linley. I’m very sorry for the disturbance. I hope I didn’t call you away from your breakfast.”
“Not at all. Quite understandable, eh? Given the circumstances, that is.” He turned to Clive and gestured toward him. “This is Mr. Clive Howard, my nephew. Lives in America, but we won’t hold that against him, will we, Inspector? Heh, heh!”
John Hartle’s upper lip curled up in a kind of polite attempt at a smile.
“As it happens, we’re his first stop on his wedding trip,” Lord Linley continued. “I asked him to step in, though, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s all very well, my lord. But a solicitor won’t be needed. We’re just making the rounds, wondering if anyone has seen anything suspicious.”
“Solicitor?” Lord Linley queried and then laughed. “No, by Jove! He’s not a solicitor, he’s a detective inspector of the Chicago police!”
“Former,” Clive added quickly.
At this bit of information, Hartle examined Clive more closely, though he kept any emotion from his face.
Detective John Hartle was a short man with close-cropped, graying hair and a gray mustache. Half of him was illuminated by the sun, weak though it was coming in through the large east windows, which revealed at least one side of his face to be deeply pockmarked. The other half of him was in shadow. He looked to Clive to be about in his fifties, but there was an air of youthfulness to him. His gray-blue eyes were very astute and keen. He was obviously able to handle himself well with the aristocracy, but Clive sensed he did not suffer fools gladly.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure we’re on our toes, then,” Hartle said slowly. “You’ll find we do things a bit differently than in the States, I’m afraid, Mr. Howard.”
“Murder is murder, though, is it not?” Clive responded with a slight incline of his head. He stuck out his hand then to shake. “Not to worry, though, Detective Chief Inspector,” Clive said, making sure to use the man’s full title. “I don’t mean to interfere. But if you need any help, I’m yours for the asking.”
“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” the inspector said dismissively. “I’ll let you know.”
Lord Linley cleared his throat. “Shall we sit down?” he suggested, gesturing toward the leather chairs by the fire. “No need to stand up like cattle!”
Clive and the inspector dutifully moved toward the chairs.
“Scotch, Chief Inspector?”
“Not for me, Lord Linley,” Hartle answered, barely able to conceal his glance at the walnut clock on the mantelpiece.
“Clive?”
“No, Uncle. I’ve not yet had breakfast, shamefully
. We were up rather late last night, I’m afraid.”
Lord Linley pulled the servants’ bell. “Tea it is, then.”
“Yes, let’s start there, shall we?” Inspector Hartle said, taking a notebook from his pocket. “You were up late, you say?” he asked Clive.
“Yes, we were having a dinner party, bit of a celebration. Clive’s just married, you see,” Lord Linley answered for him.
“Hmmm.” The inspector scribbled away.
Stevens knocked then and entered silently. “You rang, my lord?”
“Tea, Stevens,”
“Very good, my lord,” he said adroitly and disappeared.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Clive asked.
Inspector Hartle looked at him curiously. “All in good time, Mr. Howard. As it is, I’m asking the questions.”
“Yes, of course. I beg your pardon,” Clive responded.
The inspector looked at him to assess whether he was being sarcastic, but, seemingly convinced for the moment that he was sincere, he continued. “House party?”
“Yes,” Lord Linley answered.
“All the guest staying here? Not at the Inn?”
“Well, most of them,” Lord Linley added and proceeded to relate the names of all of the guests staying at Castle Linley as well as the local families that had gone home in their motorcars.
“Notice anything unusual?”
“Not that I can say,” Lord Linley said thoughtfully. “It would have been difficult to notice, what with the music and all.”
“Notice anyone coming or going?” Inspector Hartle asked Lord Linley, causing Clive to suddenly remember then how Wallace had disappeared across the grounds in the night and likewise how Captain Foley had stayed outside for a rather long time before Clive had noticed him sneak back in and join the card table, much to Clive’s particular annoyance, as Foley was clearly already in debt.
“Not that I know of …” Lord Linley answered absently.