“Britta!” I said as she scampered by me. “Can I have a moment?”
“Oh, Hattie, I need to get upstairs. I’m running behind,” she said, donning her apron.
“I wondered if you happen to know where James is?”
Britta took a sharp inhale of breath and reached for her left ear. “How did you know?” she whispered. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
I was taken aback by her reaction but attempted to appease her fears by shaking my head.
How did I know what?
“The police are looking for him,” I said, only adding to Britta’s distress. “They want to speak to him about Lester Sibley’s murder.”
“Oh, Hattie, he’s done nothing wrong,” the maid nearly shrieked as she grabbed my arm. “You’ve got to believe me!”
“Britta, if you know where he is, tell me and I’ll go speak to him. The police may never have to be involved.”
She nodded, removed her hand, and fumbled with her apron strings. “He’s at the Aquidneck Hotel on Pelham, a block from the Old Stone Mill.” I wrote down her directions in my notebook. “But please, Hattie, you’ve got to believe me. He only spoke to that labor man. He never intended to act, despite what Mr. Mayhew thinks. And he certainly didn’t kill anyone.” Britta threw her hands to her face and began to sob, confirming my suspicions about the pair.
I placed my hand lightly on her shoulder. “If he’s innocent, than there’s nothing to cry about,” I said.
“He is innocent, Hattie,” she said, still crying softly.
“Then you get upstairs and do your job and I’ll get over to the Aquidneck Hotel and do mine.”
Britta wiped her tears with the trim of her apron, attempted a smile, and then ran up the stairs. As I watched her go, I wondered when had my job become questioning murder suspects?
CHAPTER 30
“Miss Davish?” James said, leaning on the open hotel room door. He was a mess. His hair was disheveled and fell into his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled and wet where he’d tried blotting a coffee stain. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. His breath was stale with a lingering stench of old whiskey. What would Mrs. Mayhew say of her handsome first footman now? “How did you find me?”
“Britta told me where you were,” I said.
“Oh, Britta, my girl, why would you do a thing like that?” he said, turning his head and speaking into the back of the door.
“The police are looking for you, James, and she is worried about you,” I said.
“Why are the police looking for me?”
“Haven’t you heard about Lester Sibley?”
“What’s there to know? The man talks to me for a few minutes about the rights of workers and I lose the best positions I’ve ever had. I only spoke to the man. Sure, I thought about what he said. He made a lot of sense. But is that cause enough to discharge me?”
“James,” I said. “Lester Sibley has been murdered.”
“What? Murdered? When?”
“His body was discovered this morning.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” he asked, and then his eyes widened as realization set in. “The police think I did it?” He started to shake his head violently. “I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I promised Britta that I would speak to you first, before the police found you. If you can provide an alibi for the time between when Lester Sibley was last seen alive and this morning, the police will leave you alone.”
“An alibi? What’s that? What do you mean?”
“Where were you last night?”
“I was at Buckley’s Saloon and then I came here.”
“Did anyone see you return to the hotel last night?”
“The desk clerk.”
“And did you stay here all night?”
“Yeah, I haven’t even left to get the paper.”
“But can anyone verify that, James?” I didn’t expect an affirmative, but he hesitated. Maybe someone had spent the night with him after all. “James, if you know of someone who can prove you were here all night and all morning as you say, then the police will know you’re innocent.”
“Yes, someone was here with me.”
“Who?”
He hesitated again and I knew whom he was protecting.
“It was Britta, wasn’t it?” I asked.
He nodded. “She spent the night here and stayed until breakfast. I told her she should go, that she was risking her job too, but she wouldn’t be separated from me.”
“And then she came back a little while ago to check on you, didn’t she?” Britta hadn’t been out running errands when I’d seen her. She’d been here.
“Yes. How did you know?” he said. I didn’t answer.
“She’s risking more than her position if she’s caught spending time here, James. You know that, don’t you?” I couldn’t resist warning him about Britta’s reputation for Britta’s sake.
“You don’t understand, Miss Davish. We risked more by living together at Rose Mont. If we’d been discovered, both of us would’ve been booted.”
“You were courting under Mr. Mayhew’s roof?”
“Not courting, Miss Davish,” he said sheepishly. “Britta and I are married. The Mayhews don’t allow for married servants, but to work at Rose Mont . . . It’s an honor, it’s prestigious, and we couldn’t turn down the chance to work for one of the grandest houses in America.”
“But you risked being discharged without references,” I said, dismayed. I couldn’t comprehend how someone would willingly put themselves in such a dangerous position.
“It was worth the risk,” he said.
“And you still think so, having lost that position?” I said, still baffled.
“What’s important now is that Britta’s position is safe. I’ll find something. Not as a footman, of course, but I can work with my hands.”
“Assuming you can shake all suspicion from you,” I said.
“I didn’t kill the man. Yes, my association with him lost me my position, but that’s not enough to kill a man.”
“Isn’t it? You were willing to risk a great deal to obtain that position and Lester Sibley cost you what you valued so highly,” I said, not believing it but wanting to know what he’d say.
“I didn’t kill him. What more can I say? How else can I prove that I’m innocent?” He absentmindedly brushed his hands through his hair. He picked out a tiny feather left behind from his pillow. It gave me an idea.
“May I see the clothes you were wearing last night?”
He looked at me with furrowed brow. “Why?”
“You said you wanted to prove your innocence. May I see them?” I said, holding my hand out.
He disappeared into his room and produced the gray wool coat and trousers of a cheap sack suit, and a white cotton shirt. “Not quite the livery of a high-society house, huh?” he said as I began my thorough checking of his clothes.
“Your stockings too, if I may.”
He left again for a moment and returned with a pair of black stockings. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Beggar’s-tick seeds.”
“Why?”
“Because Lester Sibley’s body was found in overgrown bushes with beggar’s-tick plants everywhere. When I found his body, I got the seeds stuck to my skirt and stockings. The killer will have gotten them on his or her clothes as well.”
I finished examining every inch, and besides the faint smell of whiskey the clothes were innocuous, not a single beggar’stick seed.
“So you believe me?” James said.
“Yes, James, I do. And I believe the police will too.”
“You did say you needed a butler?” I said.
I’d accompanied James to the police station and listened as he explained his situation to Chief Preble. I added my theory about the beggar’s-tick seeds. On my way back to Rose Mont, I stopped by Moffat Cottage to see the elderly Shaw sisters and explain my proposal.
“Yes, dear,” Miss Lizzie said, a strawberry stain on the lace collar of her dress, “but isn’t he a suspect in a murder?”
“He won’t be for long,” I said. “I’m certain the police will clear him of any suspicion.”
“Well, he won’t come with a reference, that’s for certain,” Miss Lucy said.
“Yes, but you know Mrs. Mayhew would’ve recommended him if the situation had been different.”
“That’s true, Lucy,” Miss Lizzie said. “Charlotte did say the only reason why Gideon discharged the housekeeper and this James Chase fellow was because of Lester Sibley.”
“And now Lester Sibley is dead, Lizzie,” Miss Lucy said. “And what would Charlotte say of us hiring her first footman?”
“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Miss Lizzie said, sitting back and smiling. “You did say he’s married, didn’t you, Hattie, dear?”
“What does that have to do with Charlotte objecting?” her sister asked.
“Hattie?” Miss Lizzie said, ignoring her sister.
“Yes, to Mrs. Mayhew’s parlormaid,” I said. “But the Mayhews don’t allow for married servants.”
“Exactly. See, Lucy, we’re doing everyone, including Charlotte, a favor.”
“How so?”
“This way, Mr. Chase works for us, Charlotte gets to keep her parlormaid, and the pair get to stay close and in service. Like I said, a splendid plan.” Miss Lizzie clapped her hands.
“Yes, it does seem like you’ve thought of everything, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. “He’s not an intemperate man, is he?”
Miss Lucy was wrong. I hadn’t thought of everything. How could I be so irresponsible? This morning James smelled of whiskey and showed signs of intoxication, though he’d always been sober at Rose Mont. How could I have forgotten, after everything that happened in Eureka Springs, that this would be a concern for the sisters? In trying to help Britta, I’d overlooked the obvious. I grappled for a response.
Miss Lizzie saved me the effort. “The man wouldn’t have lasted two days at Rose Mont if he was anything but conscientious and proper.”
“And if he does on occasion imbibe,” I added to cover my mistake, “who better than you ladies to save him from its evil?” This comment elicited serious nods from both ladies.
“You’re right, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. “It’s our duty to see Mr. Chase respectably employed and thus we can ensure he stays a faithful and sober husband.”
“And you will have a first-rate butler,” I said.
“That’s true, Lucy, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “The Mayhews only hire the best.”
“It’s settled then,” Miss Lucy said, “as long as the police clear him, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, pleased with such a positive outcome. I couldn’t wait to tell Britta what I’d done.
“The police clear whom?” Mrs. Grice said as she entered the room. She was smiling until she saw me. “Are you back again?”
“Hattie has found us a replacement for Mr. Grady. Isn’t that kind of her?”
“If you mention butler and police in the same conversation, how can you say he’s suitable?” Mrs. Grice said, sitting down and smoothing the folds of her dress in her lap.
“Where is Walter?” Miss Lucy asked, ignoring Julia Grice’s comment about the butler.
Mrs. Grice answered Miss Lucy but stared at me. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Her eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands before her. I’d seen Walter’s eyes light up like that. It didn’t bode well for me. “He’s escorting Eugenie Whitwell to see A Trip to Chinatown at the Casino’s theater.”
I suddenly felt nauseous picturing Walter with Eugenie Whitwell. Moreover, he was probably in the company of her brother, Nick, and Cora Mayhew as well.
“Isn’t it too soon for the girl to be out in public? Her father hasn’t even been buried yet. I heard they’ve sent the body to New York. They’re having the funeral there in a few days. Surely the girl should stay in mourning at least until then?” Miss Lucy said.
“Yes, dear, it’s most inappropriate,” Miss Lizzie said.
Julia Grice frowned. “I thought it was quite the coup myself,” she said. “Is Miss Whitwell not one of the richest heiresses in Newport?” Oh, how I wanted to tell her that Eugenie Whitwell would not be inheriting anything but debt, but I held my tongue. “Can a mother not want the best for her child?”
What about what your child wants?
“Yes, yes, of course,” Miss Lucy said. “Her father was quite rich. I’m not arguing that she’s not quite a catch for Dr. Grice, Julia, but that young people today don’t seem to show the respect to their elders that they used to. When my father died, I didn’t go into society for months.”
“Yes, well, things are changing, Miss Lucy,” Mrs. Grice said, slowly shaking her head. “Whether we like it or not. I simply thought Walter should take advantage of it.”
I couldn’t sit and listen to Walter’s mother any longer. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, standing, “I must be getting back.”
The two sisters nodded their farewell.
“We’ll speak again, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. She was still itching to get all the gossip, which the arrival of Mrs. Grice had brought to a halt.
I left the room, relieved to be out of the ungracious woman’s presence. But before I had taken two steps down the hall, I heard Miss Lizzie raise her voice and say, “Yes, Julia, dear, I couldn’t agree with you more. Things are changing. Who knows what will happen next? Today a child attends a play days after her father’s death; tomorrow a gentleman doctor falls for a lady typewriter.”
Thank you, Miss Lizzie! I thought, smiling. And I was still smiling when I arrived at Rose Mont a quarter of an hour later.
CHAPTER 31
I wasn’t smiling when I heard the foursome return. I’d gone to bed at lights-out like the rest of the staff, having spent the remainder of the day and evening in my sitting room sorting through stacks of invitations to luncheons, teas, dinner parties, balls, recitals, and lectures and updating Mrs. Mayhew’s calendar, but as usual I couldn’t sleep. I’d borrowed a lantern from the Servants’ Hall and crept out of the house, hoping a few minutes of fresh air would help. I’d crossed the lawn and stood on the Cliff Walk path, taking deep inhales of the salty air, listening to the crash of the waves. After a few minutes, I heard raucous laughter and saw the swaying points of light from two lanterns coming toward me.
Who would be on the Cliff Walk at night? I wondered. Not wishing to be seen outside after dark, I blew out my light and stepped off the path. But my precaution was for naught. As I stepped off the path, the party veered toward the house.
“Who’s there?” a man shouted. I’d only met him a few times, but I knew Nicholas Whitwell’s voice. Was Walter with him? I wondered. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The group stepped closer, confirming my suspicions.
“Miss Davish?” Walter said, holding up his lantern high to see. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Dr. Grice,” I said, stepping into their circle of light.
“What are you doing out here?” Cora asked. “Does my mother know you’re not in your bed at this hour of the night?”
Nicholas Whitwell laughed. “Could say the same about you,” he said, laughing again. He was wearing a bandage on his right cheek.
When did he injure himself? I wondered. And how?
“Oh, Nick,” his sister, Eugenie, said. Although she was inappropriately out in society, she was appropriately dressed in black.
“You haven’t answered my question, girl,” Cora said to me again.
Walter frowned. “Still not sleeping well, Miss Davish?” he said. I shook my head.
“You know this girl?” Eugenie asked, looking up at Walter.
“Yes,” Walter said without elaborating.
Eugenie slipped her hand from Walter’s arm and folded her arms across her chest. “How?” she said, pouting.
“Oh, Eugenie,” her brother whined, “you can be such a bore. S
he’s a secretary who once worked for those old busybody ladies Mrs. Grice is staying with.”
Isn’t everyone here a busybody? I thought.
“Besides, the man’s a doctor. He knows about sleeping potions and stuff.” Although the details were quite right, I was amazed that of all people, Nick Whitwell not only knew my history but also came to my defense. I wasn’t at all sure I liked the idea of either.
“Oh,” Eugenie said, placing her hand on Walter’s arm again. “That’s all right then.”
I looked away. Being in Walter’s presence, like this, was almost unbearable.
“You’re right, Dr. Grice,” I said, hardening my heart and straightening my shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep and thought the night air would help.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cora said. “You saw Nick’s father as well as that nasty labor man.” I nodded. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep after seeing two dead bodies,” Cora said, shuddering. Nick dropped his head and kicked the ground absentmindedly. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said, lightly touching her hand to his cheek. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said, putting his arm around her. “The old man’s dead. That’s the way it is.”
“Well, Miss Davish,” Cora said, “I won’t tell my mother, this time. Do see that it doesn’t happen again. Come on, Nick. I’m cold.”
Eugenie took a few steps to follow, but Walter stood his ground. “Walter?” Eugenie said. “Walter?” I cringed at Miss Whitwell’s use of Walter’s Christian name. Did they know each other more intimately than I’d thought? This time he removed Eugenie’s hand from his arm. “What are you doing?” she said.
“I will bid you good night here, Miss Whitwell,” Walter said. “I trust your brother will see you safely home?” Nick smiled and winked at Walter.
What was that about? I wondered until Nick turned and leered at me.
“Sure, Walt,” he said. “Come along, Eugenie.”
“Well, I never . . . ,” his sister huffed. “Good night and good riddance, Dr. Grice.” She swung her face away and stormed across the dark lawn, followed by her brother and Cora Mayhew.
A Sense of Entitlement (A Hattie Davish Mystery) Page 23