Rules of Murder

by Julianna Deering

  “So Peterson says.” Drew examined the area. “What’s it look like to you?”

  “Well, I’m fairly sure Mr. Peterson doesn’t go about doing the garden on his tippy-toes.”

  “A fair assumption,” Drew agreed. “Clearly our visitor either treads very loudly and didn’t want to be heard in the night, or more likely, he decided half a print is much harder to match to a delinquent foot than a whole one. Shall we see where he was off to?”

  They followed the tracks from the garden to the greenhouse and then to the edge of the woods.

  “Peterson said he must have startled the man near the greenhouse because he dashed off then and into cover here.”

  Drew and Nick looked about for a while longer, and then they followed the tracks into the trees and out onto the road, only to lose them in a jumble of foot and tire marks. Clearly at a dead end, they retraced their path back up to the house.

  “There’s only one set of prints,” Drew said, “and Peterson saw the man run into the wood, so we know he wasn’t going the other way. But where did he come from?”

  “Perhaps he got onto the walk that goes round the house from the drive.”

  “I suppose, but where would he have come from before that?”

  Drew studied the footprints in the flower bed once more.

  “Suppose he wasn’t coming up to the house.”

  Nick drew his brows together. “Then how could he have left these marks?”

  “Suppose he was leaving the house.”

  “Oh, I say. You don’t suppose—”

  “I think a good look round would be in order, don’t you?”

  “I’ll run down and get Mack and Bobby,” Nick said. “They can watch the house to see no one gets out.”

  “Good idea. I’ll have Denny tell the staff to keep watch inside.”

  “Look here, oughtn’t we have old Birdsong in on this?”

  “Yes, I suppose we should. Still, it wouldn’t do anyone much good if we were to ring him up and then have to wait for him to motor down from Winchester or wherever he’s off to and, in the meanwhile, let our man get away, now, would it?”

  Nick grinned. “It would be deuced irresponsible, I’d say.”

  Drew gave him a hearty pat on the back. “Good man. Now, you see to Mack and Bobby, and I’ll get Denny.”

  Nick loped out toward the greenhouse, and Drew hurried inside.

  “What are you two up to?” Madeline asked. She was standing there halfway up the front stairway.

  “Up to? I don’t have the slightest notion what you mean,” Drew said.

  She nodded, clearly unconvinced. “I saw the two of you looking around in the yard and then running off into the woods. You’ve found something.”

  “Nothing that need worry you, darling.”

  She came down to him. “I’m not worried. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “Well, if you must know, Mr. Peterson saw someone run from the house and into the wood last night. He couldn’t see who it was, just someone all in black.”

  “But what could he have wanted?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that, either. But since his footprints go only from the house to the woods, I’m thinking maybe he’s been hiding here all along.”

  “Here? In the house?”

  “A bit unnerving, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll say it is.”

  “Not to worry, darling. If there is anyone untoward here, we’ll soon flush him out.”

  Drew rang the bell, and Dennison made an immediate appearance. Although he did not look entirely convinced of the sagacity of Drew’s plan, he responded to it with only a slight bow and his usual “Very good, sir.”

  “Mack and Bobby are at their posts,” Nick announced as he came back inside. “Where shall we start?”

  “Lovely.” Drew rubbed his hands together. “As soon as the staff are in place, we’ll start down here and work our way upward. What do you say?”

  “Excellent. Will you be joining us, Miss Parker?”

  “You’re not leaving me behind with a murderer in the house.”

  Drew put her arm through his. “You’ll be safe with me, darling.”

  Drew paced before the library fireplace. “Well, that was a bust.”

  “And I had such hopes,” Nick said, and he flung himself into an overstuffed chair.

  “You’re driving me crazy stalking around like that.” Madeline forced Drew to sit beside her on the divan. “And you shouldn’t have scared poor Mr. Rushford that way. He’s rattled enough as it is.”

  Drew frowned thoughtfully. “Poor blighter. I did hate to go in there at all, but we had to at least take a look around. Now he’ll likely have the jitters worse than he did to start with.”

  “Well, it’s certain he didn’t see anything,” Nick said with a grin, “or we’d have heard the howls across two counties. But at least I didn’t come away empty-handed.”

  Drew leaned forward to peer at him. “What’s that?”

  There was a spark of mischief in Nick’s eyes as he patted the little red leather notebook he’d taken from his pocket.

  “I nicked it when we were in old Rushford’s room.”

  “What is it? His diary?”

  “Says so on the cover.”

  Madeline’s mouth dropped open.

  Drew’s jaw tightened. “You stole his diary?”

  Nick shrugged. “Stole is a rather harsh term, isn’t it?”

  “But a man’s diary—”

  “Exactly. If he’s our man—”

  “If he’s our man, he’s not likely to write it all down and leave it for anyone to find. Besides, didn’t your Father Knox say we weren’t to know the inner thoughts of the perpetrator?”

  “Don’t be daft. But he might have put down something that will give us a clue, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose that’s possible.” Drew held out his hand. “Let’s have it.”

  Nick handed him the book. “Or he may have seen something he forgot to mention.”

  Drew thumbed through until he found Saturday, the fourth of June. The page was blank.

  Nick narrowed his eyes. “Suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “No, he’s written about it the next day: ‘Terrible tragedy. David Lincoln was murdered last night at Farthering Place. Parker’s wife dead, too. Possible suicide or overdose of her sleeping medicine. Awful thing.’”

  “Not very helpful,” Nick muttered.

  “No, and stop reading over my shoulder.”

  Nick made a little huffing noise and sat up straight, his arms crossed over his chest. “Fine.”

  Drew scanned a few more pages. “Nothing but everyday happenings. Here’s a bit about the case: ‘Still no word on Lincoln’s killer. Unnerving to know a chap and have him murdered, even if he was a scoundrel. World’s gone mad since the war.’” Drew skipped further ahead. “How about last night?”

  Nick leaned forward again. “Well?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The poor man,” Madeline said. “You really couldn’t expect him to feel like writing after what he’d been through.”

  “No,” Drew agreed, “but he made up for it today: ‘It’s a wonder I wasn’t killed. The office robbed and our bearer bonds taken. It’s been such a frightful experience, I don’t know if I shall ever recover. I’m still so confused. I don’t know whether or not I heard properly. It must be this blow on the head. Anything else is impossible.’”

  Nick frowned. “Is that all?”

  Drew turned the page. “More or less. A mention of the incompetence of the police. A wonder that we’ve not all been murdered in our beds quite yet. Fear that the company will go under after the theft.”

  “What do you suppose he heard?” Madeline asked.

  “Or didn’t hear.” Drew flipped back a page. “‘I don’t know whether or not I heard properly.’ Heard what?”

  �
��Perhaps we should just pop up and ask him,” Nick said.

  “Brilliant.” Drew leapt to his feet. “And I know just what to say. ‘Pardon me, Mr. Rushford, sir, but we’ve positively trodden on every duty we have as your hosts by stealing your private diary. Now that we’ve rummaged through it, we’d like you to answer a few questions. Never mind the head wound, this will take only a moment.’”

  Nick gave him a sour smile. “All right. All right. It was just a thought.”

  “And have you thought, my good man, how you’ll get the thing back into his room without his knowing it’s been gone?”

  “Well, not as such.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Can’t the maid take it in when she takes Mr. Rushford his dinner?” Madeline asked. “Under a napkin or something?”

  Drew shook his head. “I don’t want any of the staff to know what’s going on here.”

  “All right,” she said. “How about Mr. Dennison? He could sneak it in, couldn’t he?”

  Nick’s eyes widened.

  Drew grinned. “Oh, that will be marvelous. He’ll be delighted to know what we’ve been up to, despite his efforts to civilize us, won’t he? Perhaps you’d like to tell him, Nick, old man.”

  “Fine.” Nick squared his shoulders, chin held high. “I’m not afraid.” He paused for a second. “Or, even better, we could try a new scheme I’ve just devised where we keep this all to ourselves for now. Then I could toddle up to Rushford’s room with a pile of new books for his amusement, just happening to toss them onto the dresser where the diary was in the first place.”

  “That might work, unless he’s missed it already.” Drew thought for a minute. “Unless you were to accidentally toss a few behind the dresser and just happen to find the diary when you retrieved them.”

  Nick nodded. “I knew you were the clever one of the lot.”

  “Yes, and good thing, too. Don’t expect me to cover your petty thefts after this.”

  Nick saluted. “Oui, mon capitaine. I shall see to it tout de suite.”

  “Carry on.” Drew returned his salute, then turned to Madeline. “Now that’s taken care of, tell me what you’d like to do this evening. I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of entertainment here in Farthering St. John, but we’ll think of something.”

  “I thought Mrs. Pomphrey-Hughes was having her musical evening tonight,” Nick said.

  “Isn’t there something you’re meant to be taking care of just now?” Drew asked.

  “I’m sure you’re most especially invited, old man.”

  “Well, I don’t think our Miss Parker would very much enjoy that, do you?”

  “Why not?” Nick grinned in the most annoying fashion. “Mrs. Pomphrey-Hughes is known for her soirees. She once had Florence Easton sing Santuzza’s aria from Cavalleria Rusticana right there in her drawing room. I’m given to understand it was quite a triumph.”

  Madeline’s eyes lit. “I heard her sing in New York once. She was wonderful.”

  “I don’t think there’s any such triumph scheduled for tonight,” Drew told her. “I mean, you can’t expect a Florence Easton in Hampshire every week.”

  Nick’s grin grew more annoying. “Perhaps not, but isn’t Miss Pomphrey-Hughes expecting you?”

  Drew glanced at Madeline, who was listening with rapt interest and narrowed eyes at the mention of a Miss Pomphrey-Hughes.

  “Bah, I don’t know why she should. If they sent me an invitation, I’m sure I had Denny send regrets some time ago.”

  Nick’s expression of deep concern was more annoying still. “Oh, but your poor Daphne—”

  “She is not, nor has she ever been, my poor Daphne. I doubt she has ever thought so, anyway.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Any display of interest, I can assure you, Nicholas, has been manufactured by dear, sweet, acquisitive Mrs. Pomphrey-Hughes and no other. I’m sure she’s a great reader of the classics and well aware of that ‘truth universally acknowledged.’ And knowing me to be single and in possession of a good fortune, who better to mend my most piteous want of a wife than her own daughter Daphne?”

  “Don’t you like Daphne?” Madeline asked.

  Drew shrugged. “She’s all right, I expect. Decently attractive girl and all that. Then she has to open her mouth and spoil everything.”

  “Well, her head is as empty as a balloon,” Nick said, “but much more fun to play with.” He nudged Drew. “Remember that time you took her to see Othello?”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “Good heavens.”

  Madeline looked from him to Nick and back again. “What happened?”

  Nick smirked. “He told her it was a comedy, thinking she’d know better and laugh at the remark. Afterward, he asked her if she had enjoyed the play. She owned that she had but said it never got to be all that funny.”

  Madeline stifled a laugh. “That was very bad of you. The poor girl.”

  “She’s been to school, hasn’t she?” Drew protested.

  “Perhaps she had mumps that day,” Nick offered.

  “You’re both very bad,” said Madeline, and Drew tried to look contrite.

  “Well, darling, if you’d like to risk one of the Pomphrey-Hughes’s musical evenings, I would be quite pleased to escort you. They invite most everyone, so I don’t think they’ll mind if we pop in.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. It’s nice to have a quiet evening at home sometimes.”

  “There is a cinema in Winchester, if you’d care to motor up there. I believe there is a new film playing. All-star cast or some such.”

  “It’s not that awful thing with Lucy Lucette, is it? If it is, there’ll be a line round the block since she’s disappeared.”

  “No, I don’t think she’s in it. And there’s a lovely little French restaurant nearby for supper later on.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Let’s do it.”

  “Oh, jolly nice,” Nick put in. “I love the cinema.”

  Drew glared at him, and he cleared his throat.

  “Ah, yes. Yes, I love the cinema, but I’ve got to get this diary back, you know, and I’ve just remembered some business I must see to here that will take all evening.”

  “Oh dear, what a shame,” Drew said. “Are you sure it can’t wait?”

  “Well, of course, if you insist.”

  Drew lifted one eyebrow, and Nick rapidly recanted.

  “No, better not. All play and no work and all that.”

  “Are you sure you hadn’t rather spend the evening with Miss Pomphrey-Hughes?” Madeline asked Drew, all innocence. “With your Daphne?”

  Drew answered her in kind. “Well, yes. Yes, I would. Thanks for being so understanding about it. Denny,” he called, “lay out my eveningwear.”

  Madeline immediately took Nick’s arm. “How would you like to take me to the movies tonight?”

  Nick positively beamed. “Oh, rather!”

  Drew shoved him out of the way. “Clear off, you. Now look here, Miss Parker, are you coming to the cinema with me or must I resort to violence?”

  “Your charm has won me, sir. To the cinema it is.”

  It was almost midnight when Drew and Madeline returned to Farthering Place. A fast drive in the cool night air had put a glow in Madeline’s cheeks and an extra brightness in her eyes. Dash it all, she was fetching.

  “Oh, that was wonderful. The poor baron. What a tragedy! And Garbo was divine as the ballerina.” She sucked in her cheeks and leaned her head back in seductive languor. “If only I could be so beautiful,” she mourned in a heavy Swedish accent.

  He shook his head. “I like women with a little softness to them. Surely with her money she could afford a few hearty meals.”

  She squeezed his arm, laughing. “She was glorious and you know it. Next you’ll be saying Barrymore can’t act.”

  He stopped short. “No,” he said, lifting one cautioning finger in mock reproof. “I may say he’d do better with some fewer nights at the pub, but never, n
ever will I say he can’t act. I saw him do Hamlet in London when I was, oh, seventeen, I suppose. Gave me a new appreciation for the Bard.”

  Madeline’s face turned abruptly sober, and he pulled her closer to his side.

  “What is it, darling?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “It most certainly is something,” he said. “Come now, tell me. Even the confessional could not afford better protection for your secrets.”

  “It’s silly of me, I suppose, but I got a postcard from Carrie and Muriel. From Stratford-upon-Avon.”

  “Did you?”

  “Muriel especially told me to keep my eye on Adorable Drew.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “And they wanted to know if we’d heard about Lucy Lucette’s disappearance.”

  “Nothing but.”

  Madeline sighed. “I don’t know. I always wanted to see Stratford—Anne Hathaway’s cottage and where the Globe Theater once stood and all the other sights we had planned. I suppose I’ll never see them now.”

  “Nonsense. Once we get things here sorted out, we’ll drive up to Stratford and see all the touristy places and perhaps even a play or two. Nick can come along as chaperone and low entertainment for the journey.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know if Aunt Ruth would approve of him. Of course, she didn’t really approve of the three of us girls knocking around Europe alone, either. I don’t dare tell her what’s happened here. Not now. She’d probably row herself across the Atlantic to drag me back home.”

  “She sounds rather formidable. But we wouldn’t want her to think these awful things happen here on a regular basis. Farthering is such a placid place and we never—”

  A shriek pierced the night.

  Drew and Madeline both looked up toward the darkened house. Then Drew ran up the steps and flung open the front door. He switched on the light in the entry and bounded up the stairs, only to be nearly knocked down by Anna fleeing for her life.

  He caught her by the arms. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I saw him, Mr. Drew! I saw him!” Her face was ghost white. “I saw him!”

  “You saw who?”

  “Him that was killed! Mr. Lincoln!”