by Caron Allan
‘We learned about her in RI—Religious Instruction—at my school,’ Diana commented. She was holding her glass in front of her face, all Dottie could see were her eyes, but from the tone of her voice, Dottie’s obvious discomfort amused her. ‘She was a beautiful girl who caught the eye of King Ahasuerus and through her obedience earned his trust so that she was able to speak to him and save her people when they were in danger. I suppose Mummy thought that Queen Esther was an appropriate woman from history for me to emulate.’
‘Yes,’ Dottie said, and unsure what else to say, she added, ‘What school was that you attended? Flora and I both went to Lady Margaret’s.’
‘Oh, I went to Blackheath, then Our Blessed Lady’s college in York. Let me tell you, it’s true what they say about nuns—they really can be very stern!’ Diana smiled with her lips but her eyes were still on her, watching, waiting, and there was a long heavy silence that seemed to hang on the room like a pall.
Now for the first time, Dottie became aware of the music issuing up from the ballroom beneath their feet, and the accompanying hubbub of voices and laughter. She began to say, ‘Perhaps we should go back down,’ but no sound came from her mouth. She swallowed hard, trying to moisten her throat for speech.
‘Well, Queen Esther has clearly inspired you, Dottie, just as she has me,’ Diana said suddenly, her voice soft.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her lovely gold cloak, of course. I know you have one just like it. Several of my acquaintances have remarked on it.’
Dottie found herself blushing for some reason she didn’t quite understand, as if she had been caught out in a lie. All she could do was nod.
‘It is a gorgeous colour,’ Diana continued, ‘and I’ve commissioned my dressmaker to make me a cloak up in that same colour. Great minds think alike, I daresay!’
‘Indeed they do,’ Dottie agreed mildly, proud to be able to keep her voice steady again. Diana got up and coming over, put her hand out to pull Dottie to her feet, her skin cool, her fingers bony and strong.
‘Come on, let’s go down. I think I’m ready to dance now.’ And putting her arm through Dottie’s, she guided her back down the stairs to the party. Dottie was aware of a profound relief flooding through her as they went into the company of other people.
*
It may have been an evening of revelry for some, but William Hardy was working. He had driven his mother, sister and younger brother to his married sister’s home for a few days, then had returned to his desk at the police station, and had gone over and over the evidence he had before him.
By the medical report, it was clear they were looking for an ordinary knife, something that could be found in any kitchen in the country. If it had been sharp enough, there was no doubt that the crime could have been committed by a woman, if she happened to catch Dunne off guard although she would have to deliver the single blow with sufficient force to pierce the evening jacket, shirt and undershirt before reaching the flesh itself. Hardy wasn’t sure. It could be done, it might be possible, but then again...
His superiors had wanted to know about the girl who had found the body. Nine times out of ten, they reminded him, the person who found the body was the killer. Here again, Hardy found himself at odds with his betters. He refused to believe for a moment that Dottie Manderson was the perpetrator of the act. If they had seen her white, shocked face as he had they would not doubt her. Useless to tell them that, of course, they would think him sentimental and a fool. And hadn’t the wife already told them she believed he was having an affair with some young woman? That was what they would say to him, and he had to admit that from a certain point of view, it made sense. Even if she wasn’t the killer, to his superiors it seemed probable she was the mistress. And there was the letter D in the diary. Again, it was only his own conviction, his refusal to think ill of her, which prevented him from believing she was the type of girl to involve herself in such a scandalous situation. To himself, and himself alone, he acknowledged he had placed her upon a pedestal and would not believe anything bad of her.
He drifted off into a daydream about her eyes, her smile. He heard her voice as she sang the song to him, her voice soft and tremulous but melodic and very, very pretty. In his mind’s eye he saw her as he had seen her at the card party in her parents’ home, gazing at Cyril Penterman with such rapture. If only she would gaze at him like that! With a sigh he roused himself and saw from the clock that he had somehow lost ten minutes with such thoughts. He took up the pile of statements and began to read once more. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sounds of cheering and laughter and the popping of champagnes corks. It was a new year.
Chapter Fifteen
At the end of the ball, Dottie had crowded into the gallery with her father to collect their outdoor things, leaving her mother, sister and George to say goodbye to George’s parents and sister. Remembering what had happened previously, Dottie really hadn’t wanted to put on her cloak without examining it first. But with the throng of guests all pressing about her, all wanting to get their things and leave, and because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, she had to be satisfied with a hasty surreptitious glance over its folds as she moved out of the way of everyone else. At the front door, seeing the frost glittering on the drive and his breath hanging in the air in front of him, her father had twitched the cloak from her fingers and draped it round her shoulders.
By the time they had reached George’s car she had been pricked again and she had to sit very still in the back of the car next to her parents. Once they had let Mr and Mrs Manderson out at their home, and driven on to George and Flora’s, Dottie contrived to wriggle out of the cloak, although it was too dark to see what had pricked her. She felt irritable and upset.
As she was getting out of the car, the streetlamp caused something to glint softly, and when Dottie put out her hand to see what it was, she found a dressmaker’s pin on the floor of the car.
Indoors, George went off in search of Greeley, the Gascoignes’ butler, and Flora and Dottie went into the dining-room, where Flora was able to spread the cloak out on the long table to examine it. She studied the fabric as Dottie began to tell her what had happened in Diana Gascoigne’s bedroom.
‘There!’ said Flora. Looking to where Flora pointed, Dottie bent over the cloth and sure enough, there was a pulled thread, and next to it, two pairs of tiny holes.
‘That’s where the pin was,’ Flora said, ‘and another like it,’ and Dottie had to agree.
‘But why?’ Dottie asked.
‘It seems quite clear enough to me. Someone put a note on your cloak again just like last time, then for some reason, either the same person or another person took the note off again. They were in a hurry, which is why one of the pins got left behind. No doubt there were too many people coming and going in the gallery for them to risk being seen. Either that or it just got pulled off accidentally in the general muddle as everyone collected their things.’
‘Or possibly someone just wanted me to get pricked by a pin?’ Dottie said, but Flora shook her head.
‘No, Darling, because if the aim was just to hurt you, they’d have put it higher up at the front, where you would hold the cloak as you put it on, or gather it around you against the cold. At least, that’s what I would do.’
They looked at each other. After a moment, with reluctance, and somewhat fearful of sounding foolish, Dottie said, ‘Do you think it could possibly be a warning?’
Flora gave her a straight look. ‘I don’t see how it can be anything else.’
‘B-but why?’
‘Well, it’s clear from what has been said, and the little incidents that have occurred, that the cloak is being associated with that picture we’ve seen—all right—you’ve seen twice and I’ve seen once—of that Queen Esther character. Think about the wording of the note: the Queen’s colour. Someone is upset with you because they think you oughtn’t to wear this gold cloak. They think it’s a colour that only the Queen
should wear. Or her –what are they—followers, servants? And not just any Queen, either, but the Queen. For that person or persons, that means Queen Esther.’
‘But why?’ Dottie said yet again, this time sounding more confused than worried. At that moment George put his head around the door.
‘Greeley says there are cakes, sandwiches and soup, cocoa and mulled wine in the drawing-room if you want them. I’m going straight to bed.’
‘Greeley is a wonder! I adore him!’ Flora said with a laugh.
‘I’m not telling him that, he already thinks far too highly of his own opinion!’ George said. ‘He never used to go to this much trouble when I was a bachelor.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ Dottie said, but Flora followed George out into the hall where Dottie could hear them slowly saying goodnight. She called out, ‘I can still hear you from in here!’
She smiled as she heard George give a low laugh and there was a soft sound which she knew was him giving Flora a gentle slap on the bottom. Then Dottie heard the sound of him going upstairs. She sighed. She had to admit that Flora and George made being in love seem so easy. And so romantic.
Flora came back into the room, looking pink with embarrassment.
‘Remind me never to stay in the house of newlyweds again,’ Dottie said, rolling her eyes.
‘We’re not newlyweds anymore, we’re an old married couple—once the first year is out of the way and the babies start to come along, well, it’s the beginning of the end really.’ Flora looked ruefully down at her waist, which as far as Dottie could tell was as flat as ever. ‘I hope he still loves me when I’m fat and tired all the time.’
‘Of course he will, he’ll still be chasing you round the bedroom when you’ve got six of the little blighters.’
‘Oh God,’ Flora said, looking worried, ‘I hope we shan’t have six. Come on, let’s go and get comfortable in the drawing-room. If you need me to use my brain, I need some food. I can’t think on an empty stomach, and now that I’m...’
‘I was wondering how long it would be before you said it!’ Dottie smirked at her sister, and followed her into the room, mimicking her sister as she went, ‘‘Now that I’m eating for two!’ Just remember that what you eat now is going to sit on your hips for the next fifty or sixty years.’
Flora, flomping down on the sofa, threw a cushion at her.
In spite of what Dottie had said, they both opted for sandwiches and mulled wine, kicked off their high-heeled shoes and curled up in opposite corners.
Ten minutes later, feeling pleasantly full and drowsy, and seeing the fire was dying down in the grate, Flora said, ‘Let’s go up. We can talk about this tomorrow.’
‘Today, I think you mean,’ Dottie corrected her. ‘It’s after three.’
Flora groaned. ‘I do hope we don’t get any visitors calling horribly early. And that includes the parents. They’re joining us for lunch. I hope they realise that means they’re not supposed to arrive until twelve o’clock at the earliest. Night-night Dot-Dot,’ she said, in the manner of their nursery days, and she dropped a kiss on Dottie’s hair, straightened and said, ‘Don’t forget George is bringing some of his pals back for dinner tomorrow—today rather—though they won’t arrive until about half past six or seven o’clock.’ She blew her sister another kiss and left the room.
Dottie decided she may as well go up too. She shivered in the hall. The New Year was only three hours old yet already the colder winter weather had begun to assert itself.
As she peeled off her stockings and balled them up, and pulled her dress up and over her head, leaving it in a bundle on the floor, she thought about her gold cloak and the reactions it had provoked.
It was clear. Someone—or possibly several people—hadn’t liked her wearing it. The saleswoman at Liberty’s had told them several others had bought the stuff, including Susan Dunne who also had the picture, and her friend the mysterious Mrs Penterman. The only Mrs Penterman amongst Dottie’s acquaintance was Cyril’s mother. And yet, for all her faults as a hostess and an overly watchful mother of an eligible bachelor, she had not seemed the type to pin warning notes on people’s cloaks, or whisper enigmatic, possibly even threatening messages. Dottie certainly couldn’t imagine Cyril’s mother in a gold cloak of her own. So was there another Mrs Penterman?
What was it the unknown person at Muriel’s engagement party had said? You wear your colour too boldly, or words to that effect?
Dottie got into bed and reached to turn out the light. She tried to remember. Had Susan Dunne or Cyril’s mother been anywhere near her when the voice had murmured in her ear? She shook her head. She just couldn’t remember. But both women had been present at the Moyers’ engagement ball although not at the Gascoignes’ that evening.
What outer wear had Mrs Penterman worn to Muriel’s engagement party? Again, try as she might, Dottie just couldn’t remember. She didn’t know whether the Pentermans had arrived before or after the Mandersons but she felt sure that if she’d seen anyone wearing a gold cloak similar to her own, she would have noticed it at once. And probably would have remarked on the fact to the wearer. Or to Flora.
But that murmured comment had seemed to say such bright colours shouldn’t be worn in public. Yet what was the point of having such a lovely warm cloak if not to wear it? If not to go out in public, when would one wear a cloak? After all, cloaks were designed exactly for those times when one went outside, surely?
Dottie gave it up. As sleep stole over her body and she closed her eyes, she resolved to speak directly to Susan about the matter. No more wondering and beating about the bush. Besides, it was the only way to satisfy her own curiosity. She was fed up with being pricked by pins. Her last waking thought was, oh and Diana is also going to have one made. I must remember to tell...
*
‘And why did they call me ‘sister’?’ Dottie asked herself the moment she awoke. She had dreamed all night of nothing but the intrigue that was going round in her mind, and it had caused her an uneasy sleep. It took a few moments for the dream to recede. She looked around for a moment, then remembered she had slept at Flora’s home. She settled back under the covers. The Gascoignes’ guest room was as much her own domain as her bedroom at home. She thought back to the message. She had only one sister—Flora. There was no possibility of her having anything to do with all this. It therefore didn’t mean actual sisters, but metaphorical sisters. ‘So where does that leave me?’ She hugged the blankets about herself, shivering.
She smiled at Janet as the maid brought in her tea, and wished her a good morning. Dottie pulled herself up into a sitting position and received the tray across her lap. ‘I thought you’d gone to visit your mother?’
Janet was hauling the curtains open and letting a half-hearted sun shine into the room. ‘Happy New Year, Miss.’
‘Happy New Year to you, too,’ Dottie responded, surprised to recall that it was still only New Year’s Day.
‘I was meant to be going to my mum’s, Miss, but then I had a row with my young man. He was staring at some girl all the evening and I took him up about it. So then we had a row, then after that I didn’t much feel like going to Hyde Park to see the New Year in—it all felt a bit flat. So then I stayed here instead of going to Mum’s.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Dottie said, ‘the ball last night at the Gascoignes’ wasn’t particularly vibrant either.’
‘No handsome young man there who took your eye?’ Janet was now unravelling the bundled stockings and placing them in the laundry bag. Next she held up the navy blue satin gown Dottie had left on the floor. ‘Looks like...’ Janet gave an expert’s sniff, ‘oh yes, that’s mulled wine all right, all over the front hip and down to the hem. I’ll get it dealt with presently.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Dottie told her. ‘I don’t like it any more. So what time did you get back here? Did they have a room ready for you?’
‘Well, Miss, usually they gives me a cosy little room up the top at the back, the on
e with the lovely view of the park, but because I didn’t give them no notice of coming, I had to share with Miss Flora’s maid Cissie. Lord, how that girl can talk!’
Dottie chuckled. ‘That’s why Flora and Cissie get on so well. Did she tell you Flora’s news?’
‘Oh yes, Miss, ever so excited Cissie was, they all are. I was in the kitchen last night with Cook and Mr Greeley and well—in fact, we was all there—and we had our own little New Year’s party, and we toasted Miss Flora and Mr George and their happy event. The coming baby was all Cook talked about all evening. Dead excited she is. There’s nothing like a new baby, I always say,’ she added sagaciously.
‘Very true.’
Janet was about to leave, the navy gown over her arm, when Dottie said, ‘Janet, you know my new cloak? The gold one? Have you seen any other ladies wearing one like it?’
‘No Miss, I can’t say as I have. Mind you, I haven’t been away apart from to come here. But no one’s been to the house in one anythink like yours. Why, has there been a run on them or summat?’
‘I’m not sure, but I’m beginning to think there may have been.’
‘If that’s the case, you’ll like as not stop wearing it. I know you, Miss, you like to be a little bit apart from the crowd, don’t you, Miss? But I say, it’s a real becoming cloak on you, so don’t rush into getting rid of it till you know for sure everyone’s wearing the same one.’
‘Hmm. You’re right, Janet, as always, See you in a bit. I’ll probably be going home tomorrow morning. Flora and George have got friends coming for dinner, so I’ll stay tonight and go home after breakfast. If you want to go back tonight, you can, if they need you, otherwise just stay and keep Cissie and the Greeleys company. Perhaps get Mr Greeley to telephone home and ask if you’re needed there, we don’t want my mother on the warpath.’
‘Yes, Miss, I will. Just ring for me if you need anything else, I’ll be in the kitchen most of the time once I’ve done your bathroom and had a bit of a tidy up.’ Like her mistress, Janet was also almost as home at the Gascoignes’ as she was at the Mandersons’. Both of us are so used to going back and forth, Dottie thought, and again she couldn’t help wondering momentarily how the new arrival would affect her casually popping in and out of her brother-in-law’s house as she had been used to doing.