by Sonia Parin
“A message from your secret admirer?” Bicky asked.
Evie explained her suspicions about the telegram Penelope had received earlier and how she and Tom had seen Penelope being dropped off at the train station and had then followed the motor car to Knightsbridge. She watched for Bicky’s response. When he stopped blinking, she knew he’d made a connection of sorts.
Evie took a deep swallow and wished she didn’t have to be the bearer of such ill tidings. “Alexander Fleshling’s chauffeur drove Penelope to the train station. She’d been to see Alexander,” Evie said.
“Funny, she never mentioned anything, but then… why would she?”
“Oh? When did you see Penelope?”
“She came down earlier on. I was in here waiting for everyone to come in.” He looked across at the piano. “I’d been playing a tune. Larkin had just set a cup of coffee down and… Oh, I forgot to drink it. Anyhow, she talked about her dressmaker and what a disappointment she’d been. A moment later, she excused herself and said she needed to take a powder for her headache. I hope she’s all right. She must be in a bad way. I couldn’t help feeling she looked a little lost and confused.”
“My maid just went up and she said Penelope is sleeping.” Evie folded the piece of paper and lifted her eyes. “Bicky. When was the last time you saw Alexander?”
Bicky took a sip of his drink. “Let me think. He came for Christmas and before that, he came over for the grouse season. Said he needed to get in more practice, just in case.” Bicky laughed. “He’s always joking about that because we’re the same age and… Well, what are the chances I’ll go before he does.”
“So, he’s not likely to inherit. Is that what he thinks?”
Bicky finished his drink. “I’ve been trying to encourage him to settle down and produce an heir. As it is, I doubt I will. Certainly not under my current circumstances.”
“And how does he feel about that?”
Bicky pressed his glass to his lips and took a quick drink. “Are you suggesting he might be somehow involved in some sordid plan to get rid of me?”
“If I say yes, I’m afraid I would then struggle to explain why someone took a shot at me.”
Bicky gestured to Larkin who promptly produced a refill. Surging to his feet, he steadied himself and then strode over to the window.
Evie followed.
Glancing at her, he gave her a brisk smile. “My apologies. The thought of Alexander being in any way involved in something as macabre as… No, I can’t even bring myself to say it.”
“What would happen if you granted Clara her divorce?” Evie asked.
“You know it is my duty to marry again.”
They stared at each other, neither one speaking or even blinking, but both clearly doing a great deal of thinking.
If Bicky fathered an heir, Alexander Fleshling would be out of the running. Surely, he must have known all along that would happen. For as long as Bicky lived, Alexander could only be a placeholder. His position would always be tenuous as Bicky was bound to father an heir…
Evie wondered about his financial situation. He had to be doing well enough to be able to afford a house in Knightsbridge. Nevertheless, she asked, “What does he do?”
“He’s in banking. Does quite well for himself.”
Yes, but for some people doing well didn’t seem to be enough. For others, having all the money in the world wouldn’t be enough…
His wife wanted a divorce. His current heir… no doubt, wanted to secure his position. The only person standing in the way of it all seemed to be reluctant to face reality.
“Bicky, when did Clara leave for London?”
“A week ago.”
Evie struggled to picture spending an entire week trying on clothes. Then, another thought struck. She’d sent Bicky a message just over a week ago. “Out of curiosity, did you happen to keep my letter saying I would be attending your house party?”
“Of course, I keep everything. I mean…” He cast his eye around the room. “Everyone in my family keeps everything. I can tell you what my great grandfather ate for lunch all those years ago.”
Evie nibbled the edge of her lip. Finally, she said, “All along, I’ve been saying you were the only one who knew of my arrival.”
He nodded.
“Do you think Clara read the letter?”
His face paled. He managed to whisper, “She might have…” Raking his fingers through his hair, he swung away.
Evie wondered if they were entertaining the same thoughts. Clara might have organized someone to take a shot at Bicky. Years’ worth of resentment might have made Evie a target too. Or, as she’d thought earlier, a convenient ruse. A smokescreen to divert everyone’s attention away from the real target.
Bicky looked up at the ceiling. “I suppose with me out of the way, she would have gained her freedom without the inconvenience of a scandalous divorce.”
“What will you do?” Evie asked.
“If I confront her, she’ll only deny it. We have no proof of wrongdoing.”
He would need proof of his wife’s plot. If Clara had hired someone, there might be a money trail.
And then… there was Alexander.
He might be behind all this. It would just be a matter of discovering what role he’d played.
Larkin cleared his throat and approached Tom. “Mr. Winchester. There is a telephone call for you.”
Evie watched him leave. She wished she’d thought of including him in the conversation. Now, she would have to remember everything she’d discussed with Bicky.
When Tom returned, he looked straight at Evie, his expression serious enough for Evie to wonder if she’d have to offer an apology for something she wasn’t even aware she’d said or done.
Tom hadn’t even reached her when Larkin cleared his throat again and announced, “Her Grace, The Dowager Duchess of Heatherington.”
The Dowager stopped at the threshold. Looking around the drawing room, she smiled and nodded and then she met Charlotte’s gaze. “Ah, there you are, Lady Charlotte.”
Tom sidled up to Evie. “Should we lineup and wait our turn? She appears to be on the warpath.”
Evie forced herself to chuckle, all the while thinking about poor Bicky. “You can consider yourself safe if she smiled at you. Although, her smile can be deceiving.”
The Duchess strode up to Charlotte and said, “I have a few choice words to impart to you, my dear.”
Charlotte must have been caught unawares because she actually brightened. “Oh, do tell.”
“Word about your insinuations and accusations disrupted my afternoon tea. I am told you hold me entirely responsible for my son’s close encounter with death because, in your opinion, I have finally cracked it.” The Dowager’s voice hitched. “Yes, indeed. Cracked it.”
Evie glanced at the footmen standing at attention. They had been the only ones to hear Charlotte. Had they taken the news down to the kitchen?
Tom cupped Evie’s elbow and guided her to the window. Lowering his voice, he said, “I received a phone call from the Sergeant. He wishes us to call in at the police station tomorrow morning.”
“Us? Why?”
“They have apprehended a suspect.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bon appetite
“Mr. Winchester. Is there something you wish to share with the rest of us?” the Dowager demanded.
“I feel like a naughty schoolboy being reprimanded,” Tom whispered. “My apologies, Duchess. It seems there has been a new development in the investigation. The authorities might have found the shooter.”
“Oh, I see. So, they’re still not certain. We should perhaps focus on what we do know. Facts, my dear boy. Charlotte thinks I have finally cracked it and I would like everyone to do their part and dissuade her from such a delusion.”
Everyone turned their attention to Charlotte who had shrunk back into her chair.
“It seems the Dowager can dish it out but she can’t take it,” T
om whispered.
“I’m sure she’ll keep it short, otherwise she would have come earlier. Although… Maybe she’s gearing herself up to take over the dinner conversation.”
The butler cleared his throat.
“I suppose that’s dinner, Larkin.” Bicky swept his gaze around the drawing room. “Shall we?”
The exodus left the Dowager flabbergasted. “But I haven’t finished yet.”
“Come along, mama. And please, behave yourself at the dinner table.”
“Am I to be scolded like a child? When did the roles reverse?”
“When you started ganging up on my guests,” Bicky said.
“And what of my pound of flesh?” the Dowager demanded.
Slowing her pace, Evie asked Tom, “Do we have any idea why the police require our presence?”
Tom said, “Not so much mine, but, rather, yours. Because you might be able to identify the suspect.”
“Me?” she mouthed. Evie pulled him back. “Since our arrival, we’ve been everywhere together. Why me specifically?”
Tom drew in a long breath.
“Are you trying to decide how much you can reveal to me?”
“Fine.” He gave a nod of resignation. “Remember that fellow I told you I’d met at the pub?”
“Sir Bradford. Your generous benefactor who supplied you with clothes and a car.” Had Tom found another Sir Bradford in London?
Tom nodded. “I asked him to keep an eye out. He called me while you were upstairs to say he’d noticed one of the locals driving around in a new car.”
“A lot of people are getting cars these days. There’s nothing unusual about that,” Evie said.
“Not unless you don’t have the means to acquire a new motor car. This fellow is a farmhand working for a local landowner.”
“Perhaps someone left him some money.” Evie rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go along with the theory I’m guessing you want to propose. Perhaps someone paid him for a job.”
“Precisely. Anyhow, the police have questioned him and they believe they have their man.”
“So where am I supposed to have seen this fellow?” Evie closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh… The day we arrived and I asked you to stop at the village. As I strode back to the car, I noticed someone watching me. A moment later, he took off at a run.” And Tom had suggested someone might have been keeping an eye out for her. “I wonder if that’s the man the police are referring to?”
Bicky returned to the drawing room and strode up to them. “I’ve been sent to herd you into the dining room. Are you two going to join us for dinner?”
“Yes, in a minute,” Evie said and gave him a brief rundown of everything they’d been talking about.
Bicky crossed his arms. “I see. So, we might have the shooter behind bars. Does that mean the police are confident they’ll find out who hired him?”
“That’s my guess,” Tom said.
“Why don’t I feel relieved?” Evie asked. Since no one provided her with a possible reason, she went ahead and said, “Someone went to a lot of trouble. What if it’s one of us?” She looked at Bicky. “What if it’s…”
“Alexander. My heir,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Bicky.” Although, from the start he’d asked who stood to inherit…
Lady Gloriana came back into the drawing room. “What’s going on?”
Before anyone could answer, Elizabeth walked back into the drawing room. “Have you all lost your appetites?”
“Bicky. I think you need to call the police,” Evie suggested. With Clara so determined to get a divorce, Alexander must have realized Bicky would try to find another wife as soon as possible. He must have decided he couldn’t take that risk. As long as Bicky remained married to Clara who had clearly failed to do her duty and provide him with an heir, Alexander would have been the next in line to inherit.
“Has dinner been cancelled?” Mark Harper asked from the doorway. “The Dowager is fretting.”
Within the next few minutes, everyone had returned to the drawing room.
“I demand an explanation,” the Dowager said. “In my time, these affairs were run with the utmost precision. Now everyone is scampering about willy-nilly.”
“Bicky,” Evie urged. “You must call the police. They have the possible shooter but you have your suspicions about Alexander. The sooner the police step in, the better. For all we know, he might be planning to strike again. If he’s responsible for hiring the shooter, he’ll be more dangerous than a wounded animal. He’s bound to hear about the arrest and do something callous.”
Stepping back, Evie looked in the general direction of the upstairs rooms. How bad could Penelope’s headache be? Caro had been in her bedchamber and she hadn’t even stirred. Swinging around again, she looked toward the other end of the house where she knew the kitchen was located. Penelope’s maid sat in the kitchen. Caro had said she’d never seen her so upset.
“What is wrong with Evangeline Parker?” the Dowager asked. “She reminds of my cat, staring into space. Bicky, have you put something in the drinks? Everyone is behaving very strangely today. Starting with Lady Charlotte and her unfounded accusations. If news about it reached my ears, mark my word, it will have spread throughout the county.”
A commotion outside the drawing room had everyone turning. The butler, Larkin, stumbled in. Or rather, he appeared to have been pushed in by Caro.
“Go ahead and announce me,” Caro demanded in a hard whisper.
“Caro?” Evie stepped forward. “What’s going on?”
“Milady. I’m sorry for bursting in like this…”
Evie waved her in. “What’s happened?” Her maid appeared to be in a state of panic.
“It’s Miss Shard. She’s wailing. I can’t make any sense out of what she’s saying.”
“Who is Miss Shard?” the Dowager asked.
“She’s Lady Penelope’s maid.” Evie turned to Bicky and, for the third time, said, “You must call the police.” She then hurried off with Caro who guided her down to the kitchen, Tom only a step behind them.
They found Miss Shard curled up in a corner, her hands covering her face as she mumbled and sobbed, “She told me to do it. She made me do it.”
“Who made you do what?” Evie demanded.
Miss Shard wouldn’t stop sobbing.
“I think we have to assume Penelope is the person who made her do something bad enough to reduce her to this.” Evie grabbed hold of Tom’s arm and led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. As she hurried up the stairs, she said, “That journey to London must have something to do with this. I think Penelope might have done something she will live to regret.”
Along the way, they nearly collided with a footman. When they reached Penelope’s room, Evie didn’t bother knocking. She barged in calling out Penelope’s name. “Wake up.” She reached the bed and grabbed Penelope by the shoulders only to gasp. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “There’s something wrong. She’s not responding.” Her face looked pale and she’d obviously been sick.
Tom leaned in. After a moment, he stepped back. “She’s gone.”
***
Dr. Higgins wiped his hands. “You say she’d been complaining of a headache.”
Evie nodded. “Since she arrived. Also, His Grace said she’d sounded confused. What happened to her?”
“I won’t know for sure until we run some tests but I suspect she’s been poisoned.”
By now, everyone knew Lady Penelope had taken her last breath. With two attempts and now a death, Evie expected them to be in a quiet state of panic.
They followed Dr. Higgins down to the drawing room. Everyone had settled down with cups of tea and sandwiches. The conversation, what little there was of it, remained muted.
Bicky strode up to them. “The Sergeant is still trying to get some sense out of Miss Shard.”
Distracted, Evie said, “I suggest he search her pockets. If he doesn’t find anything there, then he’ll have to carry out
a thorough search of the kitchen.” Her gaze traveled from one guest to the other.
“What are you thinking?” Tom asked.
“Penelope didn’t poison herself. According to Caro, she’d terrorized her maid. I think she might have pushed her too far.” Turning to the doctor, she asked, “What sort of poison do you suspect?”
“I really cannot know for sure, but the symptoms you mentioned suggest she might have been poisoned with arsenic.”
Larkin cleared his throat. “Your Grace, what would you like me to do about dinner?”
Bicky looked around the room. “I think we have all lost our appetites, Larkin.”
Dr. Higgins excused himself saying, “The ambulance should be arriving soon to… take her away.”
Evie took a moment to settle her thumping heart. Belatedly, she remembered thinking she should call in on Penelope to check on her. Would it have made a difference?
“Miss Shard spent the afternoon in the kitchen,” Evie murmured. She grabbed hold of Tom’s sleeve. “Miss Shard. Remember what she said?”
“She made me do it.” Tom must have read the panic in her eyes. Looking at Bicky, he said, “It might be a good idea if you dispose of the food. If Miss Shard poisoned Penelope, she might have tampered with the rest of the food too.”
Everyone within hearing gasped and that set off a murmured conversation as they all asked for explanations.
The Dowager sprung to her feet. “The food… poisoned?” She promptly took her cup of tea to a table and set it down. “I’m suddenly feeling faint.” A footman helped her to a chair.
Still holding on to Tom’s sleeve, Evie drew him aside. “She made me do it. How can we possibly interpret that? I doubt it means Penelope issued an order for Miss Shard to poison her. Could it mean Penelope pushed her too far? According to Caro, Miss Shard suffered terribly and had been constantly reprimanded by Penelope.”
“Everyone has a breaking point,” Tom mused.
“What if someone else put her up to it?”
“Do you have someone in mind?”