Murder Has No Class

by Rebecca Kent

  Her gloves were showing signs of wear, she noticed, as she fastened her silk scarf more securely about her throat. Soon she would have to purchase more. The wide brim of her hat shaded her face, and she tilted her chin at the sound of horse’s hooves.

  Reggie’s face glowed with excitement as he climbed down to open the door for her. Leaning toward her, he whispered hoarsely, “Are we going after another murderer?”

  She tried to look surprised. “Goodness, Reggie, whatever makes you think that?”

  “You don’t usually go out without Miss Cross and Miss Pickard, do you. I thought you might be off on one of your investigations.”

  “I’m merely going to look at some property that’s for sale.”

  She climbed up onto her seat. “So you can stop speculating about my intentions.”

  Reggie looked disappointed. “Very well, m’m.”

  To her relief he closed the door and climbed up onto his seat. She’d had to take the maintenance man into her confidence more than once, but only as a last resort, when she was unable to explain her activities. She saw no reason to enlighten him this time, unless it became absolutely necessary.

  The new horse always seemed anxious to be on the move, and at the slightest flick of the reins, lunged into action. The first time or two she had traveled with him, she had been taken unawares and had been thrown back against the back of the seat, dislodging her hat so that it fell over her eyes.

  Most annoying, since she had to reset the pesky thing on her head without the benefit of a mirror. She’d spent one entire afternoon shopping in Witcheston with a ribbon dangling down her back and a hat pin swinging on the end of it. No wonder she’d received so many odd glances.

  Reggie had named the new horse Spirit, a name she had to admit suited his rambunctious nature, but personally she would rather have had a horse with a little less spirit. She missed the steady plodding of Major, who had been retired once Spirit had taken over the reins.

  Watching the fields rush by, Meredith sighed. It seemed that everything nowadays depended on more and more speed. The motorcars that clogged the streets of Witcheston moved so fast these days that she barely had time to cross the road before one was upon her, honking that dreadful horn and spitting out nasty, smelly smoke.

  In no time at all, it seemed, Reggie was heading up the driveway to the grand entrance of the Stalham estate. Meredith gathered up her handbag and prepared herself for the jolt when the carriage halted. Even so, she slid forward and had to right herself before Reggie opened the door.

  “Here we are, m’m,” Reggie sang out, and held out his hand to help her down.

  There was a time when she would have thanked him and dismounted without his aid, but the rapid pace of their journey had made her somewhat unsteady, and she accepted the firm support of his arm.

  “Goodness,” she said, when her feet were solidly planted on the ground, “we certainly kept up a good pace today.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Reggie grinned. “That Spirit really knows how to charge ahead.”

  “Yes, well, I just hope he doesn’t charge us right into a hedge. We were going around the bends a little too fast for comfort.”

  Reggie’s grin widened. “Don’t you worry yourself, m’m. I’ll make sure we stay on the road.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Meredith glanced up at the main doors. “Wait for me here, Reggie. I shan’t be long.”

  As she mounted the steps, a tumult of raucous barking broke out, from what were obviously very large dogs. They kept up the din while she tugged on the bell rope, and didn’t cease their protests until the door opened. A tall, gaunt man stood in the doorway, dressed in a black morning coat and gray striped trousers. His gray hair was swept back from a high forehead, and his nose jutted out at a fierce angle. Dark blue eyes regarded her with just a hint of hostility, beneath sparse eyebrows raised in question.

  This, apparently, was Smithers, the Stalhams’ butler. “Good afternoon,” Meredith said, doing her best not to feel intimidated. After all, the man was nothing more than a servant, though she doubted very much that he’d see it that way.

  Since he seemed disinclined to answer, she said briskly, “My name is Mrs. Llewellyn, and I understand this estate is up for sale. I would be very interested in viewing the property, if I may?”

  Smithers’s nose tilted upward. “You have an appointment?”

  Meredith curbed her resentment. The man knew very well she didn’t have an appointment. He was, however, entitled to ask for one. “I am visiting the area,” she said, placing a pleasant smile on her face. “I happened to hear of the sale, and since I won’t be here long, I thought I’d take a chance on this being a convenient time to view the property.”

  The butler was obviously concerned about losing a possible sale. Of course, he could prefer that the mansion not be sold, thus ensuring he stayed in residence there. On the other hand, no doubt the heirs would keep him employed elsewhere, which could be what he favored.

  With all the alternatives running through her mind, Meredith anxiously watched the butler’s face. After a long pause, he stepped back and held the door open wider. “I will have Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper, show you over the premises,” he announced, after ushering her into the library.

  His obvious disapproval of her presence made her uneasy, and she was relieved when he left her alone. Until she remembered that this was the very room in which Howard Stalham had died.

  It was a large room, with tall French windows that overlooked a lawn bordered by trees. Seated on a blue satin settee, Meredith stared at the carpet. Lord Stalham had lain there, bleeding profusely no doubt, with his son standing over him.

  Had James shot his father in order to avoid being cut off from the family fortune, or had he been telling the truth? Had someone else pulled the trigger and left a dying Howard for his son to find? Meredith suppressed a shiver, and glanced over at a dark corner of the room, half expecting to see a red mist forming with an enraged ghost in the center.

  Reassured to see no such thing, she surveyed the room, her gaze coming to rest on the gun cabinet on the opposite wall. Again a shudder rippled down her spine.

  Steeling herself, she got up and walked over to the cabinet. The killer must have taken the gun from the cabinet. How easy would it have been for James, in the heat of an argument, to seize the gun from the case and fire at his father? Curious, she took hold of the knob and twisted it.

  The door swung open. Surprised, she frowned at the contents. Had it been kept unlocked? If so, it would have been all too easy for James to snatch up the gun. Perhaps she had been hasty in doubting his guilt.

  The light tap on the door made her jump. When it opened, a young woman entered carrying a large tray. She appeared to be far too youthful to be entrusted with the tasks of a housekeeper. Though not too young to be with child, affirmed by the swelling in her belly.

  “Good afternoon, m’m,” she said, coming to a halt a few feet away. “Mrs. Parker sent me to tell you she’s been delayed but will be with you shortly. Meanwhile she hopes you will enjoy a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you.” Concerned that the heavy tray might be too much for the maid in her delicate condition, Meredith was tempted to take the load from her. She remembered, just in time, that she was supposed to be a wealthy client looking to buy the mansion, and would never dream of coming to the aid of a lowly servant.

  She waited for the maid to put down the tray, then murmured, “So kind of Mrs. Parker.” She moved to sit down, while the maid poured a small amount of cream into the fragile china cup.

  “One lump or two, m’m?”

  “One will be sufficient, thank you.”

  “Yes, m’m.”

  Meredith waited another moment or two while the maid extracted a sugar lump from the bowl with a pair of silver tongs, and dropped it into her cup. “Forgive my morbid curiosity,” she said, as the young woman poured out a stream of steaming tea, “but I understand your master was killed in this room not too l
ong ago.”

  The maid jumped, spilling the dark brown liquid into the saucer. With an exclamation of dismay, she put down the teapot, fished a handkerchief out of her apron pocket, and carefully mopped up the puddle before replacing the brimming cup on the saucer.

  “Pardon me,” Meredith said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, m’m.” The young woman gave her a nervous glance. “I’ve been really jumpy lately. Dropping all sorts of things. Mrs. Parker says it’s because of the baby.” She laid a protective hand on her belly. “It messes up me nerves.”

  “So I remember.” Meredith smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Winnie, m’m.”

  “Well, Winnie, I was wondering if you could tell me what happened here that night. I noticed the gun cabinet is open. Is it always left unlocked?”

  Winnie shot a glance at the gun case. “Yes, m’m. It is. Lord Stalham had a stiffness in his fingers and had trouble turning the key. He got cross one day and threw the key into the fire. The cabinet hasn’t been locked since. Though no one’s allowed to touch the guns. Except Smithers, of course, and he only touches them once a month when he cleans them.”

  “Ah, I see. I noticed that some of them are quite old.”

  The maid offered Meredith a plate of tiny jam tarts filled with lemon curd. “Yes, m’m. One of them belonged to an American bank robber, so I’m told.”

  “Indeed? How interesting.” Meredith took one of the tarts and bit into it. The tangy flavor pleased her, and she quickly finished the tasty morsel.

  “Yes, m’m.” Winnie shot another uneasy glance at the cabinet. “Lord Stalham kept the gun loaded, too. He frightened me one day when he showed it to an acquaintance of his while I was in the room. Sir Gerald Mackleby, it was. He took the gun from Lord Stalham and was waving it about while he talked. I kept expecting it to go off and shoot me.”

  “That must have been very disturbing.” Meredith sipped her tea and put the cup back on the saucer.

  “Yes, m’m. It were. It gave me quite a scare, I can tell you. I remember looking at that gun and thinking something bad was going to happen one day. Blow me if the very next day, Lord Stalham wasn’t lying dead on this very floor. Shot by that very gun.”

  “How awful. Sir Gerald must have been quite shaken by the ordeal.”

  Winnie shrugged. “I don’t know about that, m’m. He weren’t here when it happened. He’d gone back to London the night before Lord Stalham got shot.”

  “It must have been a dreadful shock for everyone here.” Winnie put a hand over her heart. “Oh, it were, m’m. I was in bed, fast asleep when it happened, and I woke up to hear a commotion downstairs. I came down to see what was the matter, just in time to see the bobbies leading Mr. James away. It was really awful.”

  Meredith nodded in sympathy. “How dreadful for everyone to discover that Lord Stalham had murdered his own father.”

  There was a long pause before Winnie answered in a whisper. “Dreadful.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I never thought Mr. James would be hanged.”

  “Why?” Meredith leaned forward. “Is it, perhaps, because you don’t believe James killed his father?”

  Winnie seemed to have trouble replying and Meredith held her breath. Was it possible that the maid knew something that would help uncover the truth about that night?

  Watching her intently, Meredith waited for an answer.

  Chapter 8

  After what seemed an eternity, Winnie gulped. “I don’t know what happened. Nobody knows what really happened in here that night. I just know it was the worst night of my life.”

  Disappointed, Meredith said soothingly, “Well, it’s all over now, and you mustn’t dwell on it. You have a little one to consider. You and your husband must be so excited about the baby.”

  Winnie’s cheeks grew red and she backed away. “If that will be all, m’m, I must get downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Parker will be up here right away.”

  Meredith was left no time to ponder on Winnie’s reaction, since just as the maid reached the door, a thin woman with spectacles and frizzy gray hair appeared in the doorway.

  Winnie scuttled past her and out into the hallway.

  The housekeeper advanced into the room, and nodded at Meredith. “Mrs. Llewellyn, I’m Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper. If you’re ready, I’ll be happy to show you around.”

  “Thank you. Very kind of you.” Meredith rose, brushing crumbs from her skirt, then followed the housekeeper out into the hallway.

  At the end of it, Smithers stood talking to Winnie, who appeared to be cowering in front of him. Mrs. Parker clicked her tongue in annoyance. “If you will pardon me just for one moment, m’m. There is something I must attend to and then I’ll be right back.”

  Meredith nodded, and watched the housekeeper trot down the hallway. Smithers looked up as she approached, and even from that distance Meredith could tell the butler was annoyed about something.

  For a moment or two the housekeeper and butler argued back and forth, while Winnie stood staring at the floor. Finally, Smithers flung out a hand and Winnie scampered off. With a parting shot at the housekeeper, Smithers followed her and Mrs. Parker hurried back to Meredith.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” she said, puffing a little. “Just a little domestic disagreement. It’s all taken care of now.” She waved a hand at the staircase that curved upward to the next floor. “Would you care to view the bedrooms first?”

  “That would be lovely.” Following the wiry woman up the stairs, Meredith added, “It must be hard for Winnie to keep up with her chores, considering her condition.”

  “She does all right. When she doesn’t have her nose behind a newspaper, that is. Always reading, that girl.” Mrs. Parker paused at the top of the stairs. “It’ll get worse for her as time goes on. She doesn’t have much choice, though, does she, what with having no husband to take care of her.”

  Having suspected as much, Meredith merely nodded. “How sad.”

  “It is sad, and none of it her fault.” The housekeeper’s features hardened. “She told me the baby’s father forced his attentions on her. Such a disgrace. Her life is ruined, and with the father gone she has no chance of anyone taking care of that baby except herself. It’s a hard life she has set up for her, I can tell you.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Meredith’s heart went out to the poor child. “Can nothing be done to help her?”

  Mrs. Parker sniffed. “Not in this house. If you ask me, far too much has been done to her already.” She reached a door and opened it. “This is the master suite. I think you’ll find it quite cozy, despite its size.”

  Meredith gave the elegant room only a cursory glance. She was far too intrigued by the housekeeper’s comment. “Are you perhaps suggesting that someone in this house is the father of Winnie’s baby?”

  Mrs. Parker sent her a furtive glance. “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. There are some who say James was the father, but Winnie won’t say as much. She’s not one to condemn a dead person.”

  “But the child could be the legal heir to a fortune.”

  “It’s not what Winnie wants.” Mrs. Parker glanced at the door as if afraid someone might be listening behind it. “If you ask me, I think she’s afraid that if she does claim James as the father, her baby will be taken away from her and raised by the family and she won’t have no say in the matter. Our Winnie is a lot stronger than she looks. She’s determined to bring up that child alone.”

  “I admire her for that.” Meredith shook her head. “It won’t be easy.”

  “I’m sure she knows that.” Mrs. Parker walked to the window and drew back the green and gold damask curtains. “There’s a lovely view of the gardens from here, if you’d care to take a look.”

  Meredith joined her at the window. The view was indeed pleasing. A large fountain sat in the center of smooth lawns, which were bordered on either side by high hedges rimmed with flower beds. Wide-spreading oaks ga
ve shelter at the far end and behind them the sun glinted on a large lake, just visible through the trees.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured. “You must be sad at the thought of all this changing hands.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all.” The housekeeper drew the curtains back across the window and headed for the door. “I grew up in London, and never was happy when the master moved me down here. Once the estate is sold I’ll be moving back into the main house. Lady Clara’s housekeeper is retiring, so I’ll be taking her place.”

  “Lady Clara. That’s Lord Stalham’s wife?”

  The housekeeper nodded. “James’s mother. Lovely lady, she is. We all love her. Especially Smithers. He worships the ground she walks upon, honest he does. Do anything for her, he would, and that’s saying a lot for a man like Smithers. He wouldn’t do nothing for nobody else, but Lady Clara . . . well, all she has to do is lift her little finger and Smithers is like a little puppy dog running for a bone.”

  “He must have been a great comfort to her then, after the murder.”

  “Oh, indeed he was. Poor woman. She was heartbroken over the loss of her son.”

  Following the housekeeper out into the hall, Meredith murmured, “And no doubt the loss of her husband, as well.”

  Mrs. Parker pinched her lips. “Oh, I don’t think there was much love lost there. Howard Stalham was a hard, cruel man. Though I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” She made a quick sign of the cross on her chest.

  “He wasn’t well liked, then?”

  The housekeeper paused in front of another door and threw it open. “We were all afraid of him. He could be really cruel. He once whipped a young stable boy for no good reason at all. The master had ordered his horse to be saddled, and wouldn’t listen when the boy told him the horse was ailing. The boy saddled a different horse anyway, and the master was furious. He took a whip to him, and made him saddle the horse that was ill. The poor thing died a week later. That boy still has the scars of that whipping, and never got over it.”