House Party Murder Rap: 1920s Historical Cozy Mystery (An Evie Parker Mystery)

by Sonia Parin

  Caro seemed to hesitate. “Word downstairs is that she is running late and will join the party tomorrow.”

  “Oh, where is she?”

  Caro again hesitated. “London, milady. I heard something about some last-minute fittings for her new wardrobe.”

  That gave her another day to prepare. At one time, before either one had married, Bicky’s wife had been Evie’s fiercest competitor in the marriage stakes and had made no bones about showing her claws.

  “If my count is correct, and to quote Elizabeth Bennet, that’s too many ladies and not enough gentleman.” Seeing Caro’s eyes brighten, Evie added, “Not that I mind. It’s all the same to me.” Everyone had expected her to land a new husband within the year. There had been offers. None she could take seriously. In her opinion, some people could not be replaced.

  “How is everyone getting on downstairs?” Evie asked.

  “They’re all finding their way around. Of course, it’s easy for me, what with me having worked at Yarborough Manor.”

  “Of course.” Evie winked at her maid. “Anyone interesting? Perhaps one of the chauffeurs?”

  “There are only two and they’re too old for me.”

  “Only two. How did the others get here?”

  “Lady Gloriana and Lady Elizabeth traveled together. Lady Penelope traveled by train but then she didn’t have far to travel from Lancashire. The others came by train too.”

  Caro stood behind her and inspected her hair. “I see Millicent has been taking good care of you during my absence, milady.”

  “She’s a quick learner, we have to give her that.” Evie turned slightly. “Now, what have you brought out for me to wear?”

  As she slipped into her pale green skirt, Evie studied Caro who seemed intent on making sure everything fitted perfectly. “Caro. I get the feeling there is something you are not telling me. Out with it.”

  “Well… You know I’m not one to gossip.”

  Evie rolled her eyes. “And you know you are to keep me well informed. How else am I supposed to avoid making a faux pas or, if need be, reparation?”

  “It’s the Duchess… and the Duke. I hear they’ve been having quite a few spats of late.”

  “Really? What about?”

  “It’s not really my place to say.” Caro looked over her shoulder as if she expected someone to be within hearing. She leaned in and whispered, “Infidelity, milady.”

  Chapter Four

  Emily Post: The only time one can interrupt in the middle of a sentence is when you need to communicate something that honestly can’t wait.

  The Blue Drawing Room, Yarborough Manor

  Unlike wine, bad news did not improve with time…

  Calling on her patience, Evie glanced around the blue drawing room. She needed to find the right moment to speak with Bicky. The butler had told her Bicky would be along shortly but that had been half an hour ago.

  She would have to speak with him in private or risk sending everyone into a state of panic.

  Would he welcome news about trouble when he had other concerns to deal with? Nonsense, she thought. Of course, this would concern him. It had taken place on his estate which stretched for miles on any direction.

  She wished Tom had been more forthcoming with his suspicions, if he had any. Although, he probably knew as much as she did. According to Caro, when she’d taken the note down to Tom, she’d had to wait for him because he had left. Evie assumed he had returned to see if he could find anything out on the road. If he had found anything, he hadn’t mentioned it to Caro.

  “You’ve been in town all this time and you didn’t contact us?” Lady Chambers, Charlotte to her friends, emphasized her displeasure by taking a quick sip of her tea. “Unforgivable. Think of all the lunches we might have enjoyed.”

  Yes, Evie had been fully aware of what she’d been missing out on, hence her decision to spare herself the agony.

  Charlotte’s conversations tended to start off on the right foot. Inevitably, she then steered them in the opposite direction, always indulging in her pet hobby by setting her target on some poor unfortunate debutante and tearing her reputation to shreds.

  Bicky strode in and clapped his hands. “We’re all here.” He looked around the room. “Well, most of us are. I suppose they’ll be coming along soon.” Seeing Evie sitting by the fireplace, he smiled. “Evie. Larkin tells me you blazed along the driveway in a new motor car. I’m afraid I missed your grand entrance. I know the car would have been right in front of me, but I only had eyes for you.”

  “I don’t know what came over my chauffeur,” Evie said, and she couldn’t wait to have a proper word with him. Now that she thought about it, she’d swear Tom had been trying to get her to safety.

  Charles, Viscount Maison, lifted his cup in a salute. “I actually saw it drive away. Very flashy. Is it new?”

  Like all men of his generation, the Viscount enjoyed talking about motor vehicles and all things mechanical. “We brought it over with us from America. It’s a Duesenberg.”

  Matthew, Lord Chambers, sat opposite Evie and gave a nod of approval. “It only just came out. Someone mentioned it at the club. Very impressive.” He clicked his fingers. “I heard someone refer to it as a ‘duesy’.”

  It certainly was an outstanding piece of machinery. Although, she would still credit Tom for the smooth drive.

  Matthew’s wife, Charlotte, sighed. “He’s been going on and on about getting a new motor car. I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with the one we have. It’s comfortable enough and should see us through to our old age.”

  Matthew Chambers snorted. “I believe my mother said those precise words when father presented her with a new horse drawn carriage back in 1890. Now she’s speeding through the countryside in her Rolls.” Looking at Evie, he said, “I hope it came to no harm during the crossing.”

  Evie gave him a distracted smile. “Not even a scratch, or so I’m told. We had calm seas all the way.”

  She saw the butler approach Bicky and murmur in his ear. Bicky nodded and followed the butler out of the drawing room.

  Charlotte leaned in slightly. “Lovely ensemble. Paris?”

  Evie gave a small nod. “By way of New York.” It had taken some doing, but she had managed to place an order with her modiste.

  Fashionable ladies made a couple of annual pilgrimages to the capital of fashion. During the months of March and September, droves of women were seen entering the Parisian studios of famous designers. The lucky few, had their own personal assistant to help with the selection of their wardrobe for the coming season. Some viewed the activity as an absolute must in order to outshine both their friends and enemies. Evie enjoyed her new gowns, but there always seemed to be something else to think about.

  Bicky returned and went to stand by a window.

  Excusing herself, Evie strode across the room to join him.

  “You’re being unusually quiet,” Evie remarked. “Is this a new trend with you?”

  Bicky instantly brightened. “Oh, I seem to have lapsed into some sort of inner musing. It happens sometimes. My father would be proud. He never really held high expectations for me, always complaining I didn’t give much thought to anything.”

  “It’s not as if you do have much to think about now that everything has been sorted out for you.” The old Duke had been instrumental in carrying the family forward through to the new century, introducing all the modern conveniences of the time. This had been quite a feat for someone of his generation; an Edwardian through and through. In the process, he had nearly sent the family bankrupt, hence Bicky’s eventual marriage to an heiress.

  “I hear Clara is away.” As a dear old friend, she wouldn’t want him to suffer in silence. She knew Clara could be exacting in her manner and Bicky often came across as a bon vivant. Even so, he would be the last man to break his vows.

  He gave her a tight smile. “The usual, I’m afraid. You know Clara loves her new gowns. It’s all become quite a compulsion.”


  With gowns or with something or someone else? Evie wouldn’t press him for more. Unlike her love match, she knew his had been a marriage of convenience. A much-coveted title for Clara in exchange for hard cold cash to rescue the estate from ruin for Bicky.

  She cleared her throat and prompted herself to ask about poachers in the area when Mark Harper strode in and beamed at Evie.

  As heir to his cousin, the Earl of Chatterlain, he received invitations everywhere, especially to households with marriageable daughters. It came as no surprise to see him here where he knew he would be safe for a few days, at least…

  “I’d heard a rumor you were back. I don’t understand why Bicky kept your visit a secret,” Mark said. “But here you are. What happened? What brought you back?”

  “Some would say prohibition happened.” Evie smiled at him. “I’m afraid it’s nothing more than the call of duty. As custodian of the Woodridge estate I must, on occasion, put in an appearance. As much as I wanted to extend my stay, I had to face up to responsibilities.”

  “Prohibition.” Matthew visibly shivered. “What do you do for pre-dinner drinks?”

  Evie laughed. “We reminisce.”

  Charlotte raised her teacup in a salute. “To think, a well-organized group of women brought it all about.”

  “Have some more cake, dear,” Matthew offered as he shared a knowing smile with Evie. “You’re always raving about the Duke’s brandy fruitcake.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  Evie once again turned to Bicky but before she could say anything, Lady Penelope and Lady Elizabeth arrived together, all full of greetings and questions about Evie’s voyage.

  “Are we the last to arrive?” Bicky’s sister, Elizabeth, asked.

  Before anyone could answer, the butler made his announcement because the lady in question wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Lady Gloriana.”

  Lady Gloriana Aspendale, the Duke’s cousin and married to the youngest son of an Earl, entered and launched into a diatribe about the Dowager Duchess’ fickle manner, a subject enjoyed by Lady Charlotte, so the two women sat together and swapped anecdotal proof of the Dowager’s capricious manner.

  Bicky laughed. “At least, mama’s opinion never wavers where I’m concerned. I’ve always been her favorite son.”

  Little did he know…

  Evie shook her head. It wouldn’t do to rob him of his illusions. “Bicky. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Evie turned to set her cup and saucer down.

  Her natural inclination would be to blurt out the news but she understood this required delicate handling. After all, the Duke had a duty to oversee his lands and ensure the safety of all who dwelt within it. If anything went wrong, he would see it as a personal affront.

  In the next instant, she heard an odd sound. Like a champagne cork, she thought. Turning, her eyes widened.

  Bicky looked as though he’d just seen a ghost.

  His face paled. He swayed and finally, his legs gave way and he buckled down to the ground.

  Chapter Five

  Who will inherit?

  The Duke of Hetherington’s bedchamber

  “It’s nothing,” Bicky insisted, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic streak of stubbornness. “Stop fussing.”

  “Your Grace. The wound could become infected,” Dr. Higgins, the village medical practitioner explained. “We need to bandage it properly.”

  “Nonsense. I have guests,” Bicky complained.

  “And they will understand,” Dr. Higgins assured him.

  Evie, accompanied by the Duke’s sister, Elizabeth, pushed past the butler and, ignoring his raised eyebrows, entered Bicky’s room.

  Wringing her hands together, Evie asked. “Will he be all right?” Somehow, she felt responsible.

  Protocol, propriety… manners. Honestly, everything she’d imagined Tom damning to hell and back had conspired against her. For once, she should have behaved like the brash American everyone assumed her to be. If she had, then Bicky would have been spared…

  “It’s only a superficial wound.” Dr. Higgins turned to Bicky. “I’m afraid it will be quite sore for a few days. Your Grace, I suggest you refrain from shooting for a while.”

  Until that moment, Lady Elizabeth had looked quite pale. However, hearing the doctor’s instructions, she gave an unladylike snort. “I doubt my brother will heed your advice.”

  Bicky stuck his chin out. “Indeed, I will not. I survived the Battle of the Somme, this is nothing but an inconvenience.” Bicky looked up. “Larkin will look after me. Where’s Stevens?”

  The valet stepped forward. “Right here, Your Grace.”

  “You’ll be able to fashion some sort of contraption for me, won’t you, Stevens?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  Bicky held his injured arm up. “Forget I said that. I think I’ll manage to dress properly for dinner. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He watched the doctor at work for a moment and then said, “Larkin.”

  The butler stepped forward. “Your Grace?”

  “Tell cook to cut my food into small portions. Tonight, I will be a one-handed man.”

  “Your Grace. You really should rest,” Dr. Higgins urged.

  “And yet, I insist. I refuse to be brought down by a mere flesh wound.” Turning to Larkin, he asked, “Has the police been informed?”

  The butler nodded. “The steward has organized his men to search the grounds. I believe the groundskeeper and stable hands have joined in the search.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Bicky tried to sit up but Dr. Higgins placed a staying hand on his good arm.

  “Oh, good heavens, man,” Bicky complained, “I should at least be allowed to sit up in my own bed.”

  “Bicky,” his sister urged. “You got your way and you’ll be having dinner with your guests. Meanwhile, do as you are told, please.”

  “I suppose I should. Any idea what happened?” The Duke looked from one person to the other.

  Evie leaned in and whispered, “If I could have a word with you.”

  Bicky appeared to struggle to understand her meaning. Finally, with a wave of his uninjured hand, Bicky sent everyone out of the room, saying, “Elizabeth, please make sure our guests are well entertained.”

  “You seem to forget, I am a guest here too,” Elizabeth replied, her face showing the relief she clearly felt at seeing her brother had survived the ordeal with only a minor scratch. “Of course, I’ll do all I can.”

  The doctor left saying he would call in again in the morning.

  “I’m not likely to die from a scratch,” Bicky bellowed. “I’ve had worse from my valet when he shaved me after one of his drinking bouts.” Bicky looked over at his valet and mouthed an apology.

  When they were alone, he turned to Evie. “Are you going to reprimand me too?”

  Evie smiled. “I should. I really should.” She looked at the door to make sure it had been closed. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you. On our way over, we had an incident on the road.” She took in his shocked expression and gave him a nod of assurance. “I’m fine but… Well, I wonder if this is related.” She wrung her hands together. “Maybe you’ve been experiencing problems with poachers on the estate…”

  “What sort of incident did you have? And… Poachers?” He could not have sounded more affronted.

  Evie told him what she knew, and wished she had more details to share.

  Again, Bicky tried to sit up. “You think someone shot at you and then tried their luck with me?”

  It all sounded too real when he said it. “Or they might have tried to run us off the road. I can’t be sure. There might have been a gunshot. Perhaps they used a mirror to cast a reflection and blind my chauffeur.”

  “To what end?”

  Trying to remain calm, she actually managed to downplay the seriousness of the matter. Evie gave a casual shrug. “Your gues
s is as good as mine. I wanted to think it had all been a dreadful mistake or a mishap of sorts but then, you were shot. Clearly, something is going on.”

  “Who stands to inherit?” Bicky shook his head. “I’m sorry to be blunt, but it is the first question anyone would ask.”

  “The real question being who would want to see me dead?” Evie asked, her eyebrows slightly curved. She held his gaze for a moment and then moved to stand by the window.

  “You’re right,” Bicky said. “Two incidents in one day. There’s nothing coincidental about that.”

  She couldn’t help thinking they were all sitting ducks. If anything happened to her… “You know I have a brother but he is as rich as Croesus. He doesn’t need my money. Besides, he loves me.”

  Bicky chortled. “What is it with you Americans? You magnetize money and massive fortunes like bees to honey. It must be in your blood.”

  Taking the remark with the blitheness it had been intended, Evie said, “Perhaps we’re more open to change and opportunity and… risks.” Evie chuckled. “In any case, we don’t exactly hold exclusive rights to wealth creation.”

  This time, Bicky snorted. “And yet, every American I’ve ever met…” he waved his hand. “I just heard myself. My apologies. Of course, I have only met a handful of your compatriots. But you must admit, they all have vast amounts of wealth in common and, clearly, more opportunities than they know what to do with.”

  Evie watched as a group of estate workers made their way across to the folly, their dogs running ahead of them. “I won’t argue with that. However…”

  Bicky laughed. “This is where you gently illustrate your point.”

  Evie shrugged. “I inherited and had nothing to do with creating my wealth. On the other hand, someone like Helena Rubinstein…”