Lady Rample Spies a Clue

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Did he call the police?”

  She nodded, snagging a piece of toast and slathering it with butter and marmalade. “Naturally. He spent a good ten minutes shouting at the poor desk sergeant. They’re sending someone around.”

  Though not in a hurry apparently. I wondered if I could get in and have a look around the office before the police arrived. I couldn’t help but think this may have something to do with the spy.

  “Aunt Butty,” I said as we sat at the table, “I overheard something last night.” I gave her a quick rundown of what I’d heard while the men were at port, what I’d seen in the garden, and my conversations later with Chaz and Maddie.

  “A spy in our midst? And a German at that. How thrilling!” Aunt Butty didn’t seem at all phased, which was no surprise. She took a sip of coffee. “Do you suppose it was this spy who broke into the house and ransacked Harry’s study? I’ll bet he’s the same person you saw skulking about the gardens!”

  “It makes sense,” I said. “Given that Harry met with Varant and Chamberlain in there last night. But Harry isn’t with the government, is he?”

  “Not at all. He’s retired mostly, though he still owns several businesses. Manufacturing or some such thing. He’s a philanthropist of the arts. Nothing governmental about it. But that Chamberlain was here along with Varant. Maybe his visit got this spy person in a twist.” She glanced about as if the spy could be hiding behind the drapes. “Do you suppose the spy is here? In this house?”

  “I doubt it. Not if he—or she—had to break in.”

  “Well, I don’t know if anyone broke into the house. Just that they broke into the study. Harry keeps it locked when he’s not using it.”

  Which was interesting. I wondered if that were usual, or if it was just because there were a lot of people staying in his house. Or, perhaps, if there was something special in his study that he needed to keep secured. So many possibilities that my brain itched with them.

  Just then I heard male voices rumbling in the hall. I darted from my seat to the door to peek out. Sure enough, there was a uniformed policeman and with him, a man in a cheap brown suit. Most likely a detective. They were conversing with our host.

  “Who is it?” Aunt Butty hissed from behind me.

  I beckoned her to be quiet. “The police are here.”

  Which was too bad. Now I’d have to wait for them to leave before I could poke around the study. Although this did provide the perfect opportunity for eavesdropping.

  “Was anything taken?” the man in the brown suit was asking Harry.

  “It’s hard to say.” Was it just me, or was Harry hedging? “The place is an unholy mess.”

  “Any sign of break-in?”

  “One of the French doors from the study to the terrace was smashed. Going to be an utter nightmare to replace.” Harry sounded more irritated by the inconvenience than anything.

  “So someone from the outside then,” Brown Suit mused.

  Which was wild speculation as far as I was concerned. Someone from the inside could have as easily set the scene to mislead the investigation.

  “Anything of value missing?” Brown Suit asked.

  “I don’t know, do I? I called as soon as I saw the mess.” Harry’s voice held steady, but... I don’t know. I just wasn’t buying it. Not after the spy conversation and Chamberlain’s visit. The three of them locked in that room. Now this?

  “Let’s have a look at it,” Brown Suit said.

  As their footsteps retreated down the hall, I pushed open the door further. “Come on,” I hissed to Aunt Butty. “Let’s see if we can hear anything more.”

  Leaving our half-eaten breakfasts, the two of us tiptoed down the hall in the direction of the study. The men had disappeared, and the study door now stood open. More rumbling voices could be heard inside.

  Unfortunately, there was nowhere obvious for us to eavesdrop without running the risk of getting caught. No giant, potted plants. No drapes. No suits of armor to hide behind.

  However, across from the study, and slightly closer to us, was another door. I wasn’t sure where it led, but perhaps it would be a good place to duck into. If we left the door open a crack, we’d be able to hear what was said in the study.

  We approached with caution and I pushed open the door. It opened onto a set of steps leading down, no doubt into the cellar. It was dark, dusty, and held a distinctly damp smell. With a shrug, I urged Aunt Butty through and stepped in behind her, pulling the door so that it was open just a crack.

  We both squeezed together on the top step, ears pressed to the crack.

  “...a key?” Brown Suit’s voice rumbled down the hall.

  “No. Just myself and my butler. No one else.” Harry’s voice held a tone of finality.

  Brown Suit harrumphed, mumbled something—no doubt to his uniformed companion—and then said, “We can dust for prints.”

  “No. No. Not necessary. Nothing of import stolen, so no point.” Was Harry lying? Why did he want to get rid of the police so quickly? Why call them if he didn’t want them investigating?

  Brown Suit must have been thinking along the same lines. “Mr. deVane, the police frown upon time wasters.” I was certain if Harry had been anyone else—someone not filthy rich, for instance—Brown Suit would have had a few stronger words for him.

  “Sorry there, detective—”

  “Detective Inspector.”

  “Right. Well, you see, it was my butler that called. If I’d realized, I’d have stopped him. Sorry to waste your time. Would you like a coffee on your way out?”

  “No thank you,” Brown Suit said. His voice held a faint tremble of anger which he managed to restrain.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall. Passed our hiding place. Hesitated.

  “What the blazes is the cellar door doing open?” Harry said.

  Before I could move, the door slammed shut and we were plunged into darkness.

  “GET US OUT OF HERE, Ophelia,” Aunt Butty commanded. “I’m almost certain I’ve got spiders on me.” She jiggled a bit as though trying to dislodge something, causing her rather impressive bosom to heave about in an undignified manner. I managed to repress a giggle, though my skin crawled at the thought of spiders.

  I tried the door, but it was locked. “Er, Aunt Butty, I don’t think we can get out.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Just turn the knob.”

  “I can’t. It’s locked.”

  “Well, isn’t this a fine kettle of fish,” she snipped. “Now what do you propose? Beating on the door and screaming like a common workman?”

  “Hardly,” I said drily. “We don’t exactly want Harry knowing we’re sneaking around his house, do we?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Surely there’s a light. Feel around and see if you can find it.”

  We proceeded to pat the walls, feeling for switches. When that failed, we batted in the air like house cats, looking for a chain. No doubt we’d have looked ridiculous if there’d been anyone to see us. And if it hadn’t been pitch-black.

  Finally, Aunt Butty let out a crow of triumph. It was followed by a clicking sound, and then the stairwell filled with light from the bare bulb overhead.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Aunt Butty said. “Can you pick the lock?”

  “Maybe.” Chaz had taught me the trick one day when we were bored. And I’d had a chance to use it a time or two during my last investigation at the now defunct Astoria Club. I pulled a hair pin from my coiffure and knelt on the top step. It was difficult to see, since my body cast shadow over the lock, but I did my best.

  Fifteen minutes later I realized the lock was beyond me. I sat down next to Aunt Butty, feeling grimy and damp with sweat, my fingers aching from the fine work. “This isn’t going to work.”

  She sighed. “Then I suppose we must find another way out.”

  “From a cellar?”

  “All these old houses have secret passageways and whatnot. There must be a back door at the very least,�
�� she said with confidence. Confidence I wasn’t feeling.

  We made our way cautiously down the old stone steps, worn and uneven from generations of feet. The floor was lined with flagstone, also uneven, but better than bare dirt, I suppose.

  Aunt Butty propped her hands on her ample hips and turned slowly in circles. We were standing in the wine cellar. Four walls lined with wine racks, at least half of them filled with neatly labeled bottles. It was immaculately clean and free of dust.

  “Jarvis must spend an inordinate amount of time down here,” Aunt Butty muttered.

  I didn’t doubt that. In the center of the room was a plain wooden table next to which stood a matching chair with scuffed legs. On the table sat a wine bottle, neatly corked, but with half its contents gone. Next to it lay a twin-pronged cork puller.

  “I think Jarvis may be sampling the wine,” I said dryly. The butler’s cork puller would allow him to remove the cork, drink the wine, replace it with cheaper stuff—or water it down—and replace the cork, all without damage. Harry would never know his wine had been tampered with unless he had a stellar palate.

  “Stealing from his employer? That stiff?” Aunt Butty practically crowed. I’d no doubt that the minute we got out of here, she’d tell Harry. Or, more likely, use the threat of telling Harry to her advantage.

  “I don’t see another door,” I said. Every wall was covered in wine racks.

  “Nonsense. Haven’t you heard of hidden doors?” Aunt Butty stepped to the nearest rack and gave it a pull. “Come on. Try it.”

  With a shrug, I started on the opposite side, and we worked our way toward each other. I was almost to the middle when a tug on the rack moved it an inch outward. “I think I found something.”

  She hurried over, and I gave a good pull on the rack. Once it was started, it swung easily, revealing a tunnel leading...I’d no idea where. But I could feel the faint flutter of air on my face. It smelled of damp earth, but it had to come from somewhere.

  “There must be an exit down there,” Aunt Butty confirmed my musings.

  “We’ve no light,” I said. “We’ll have to do this in the dark.” I wasn’t thrilled with the idea.

  “Buck up. We are women. Not mice.” Aunt Butty marched ahead into the tunnel.

  The walls had been whitewashed at one point, though the wash was now dirty and chipping. Cobwebs festooned the ceiling and draped elegantly down to brush our heads and shoulders. I shuddered at the skitter of tiny feet. This was not the sort of adventure I enjoyed.

  After a brief discussion, we’d left the entrance open, so we could have at least a little light. We decided that while it would tip off the butler to invaders, he’d have no idea who the invaders were, or why they’d entered his domain. At least, not until Aunt Butty confronted him at the time and place of her choosing.

  I nearly jumped out of my shoes when Aunt Butty let out a screech. I whirled to face her, half expecting to find her covered in spiders, or with a knife at her throat. But she just stood there looking terrified.

  “What is it?”

  “A ghost.”

  I blinked. “Pardon?”

  “I am certain this place is haunted, Ophelia.”

  This was the downside of having a vivid imagination. “Nonsense. There are no such things as ghosts.” At least, I hoped not.

  She set her jaw. “Don’t be so close-minded, niece. I am positive there’s a ghost in here. I felt it.”

  I decided to humor her. “Fine. What did you feel?”

  “It got very cold, and then something brushed my arm.”

  “It’s cold because we’re underground. And you probably brushed up against a spider web. There’s a giant one dangling over there.” I pointed to a thick swath of white webbing just behind her.

  Aunt Butty let out a horrified gasp, snapped her mouth shut, and marched briskly down the tunnel ahead of me. I grinned. I supposed in the battle between fear of ghosts and fear of spiders, the spiders won.

  The light grew dimmer as we moved further into the tunnel, but the air became fresher—less of damp earth and more of greenery and flowers—and the breeze teased at my hair. Eventually, the tunnel ahead of us turned from pitch black to gloomy gray. We must be nearing the exit.

  Finally, we came across an iron-bound wood door that looked a few hundred years old at the least. There were large gaps at the top and bottom which allowed wind and light down the tunnel. I tested the handle to find that while the door was latched from the inside, it wasn’t locked. I gave it a good push and it creaked open a foot or so before it stuck fast against the uneven ground.

  “There’s no way I’m getting through that tiny space,” Aunt Butty said.

  I rolled my eyes and squeezed myself into the gap. Using my body weight, I shoved at the door, managing to get it open a few more inches, just enough for both of us to squeeze through.

  From the outside, the door was all but invisible, covered in thick, hanging ivy. There was no handle on this side, which meant there was no way for anyone to open it unless someone from the inside let them in. Hence it being unlocked.

  “Well, that was an adventure,” Aunt Butty said, shaking her clothes to rid them of dust and creatures. Her gray hair was festooned with cobwebs. I imagined mine fared no better.

  “Good lord, what have the two of you been up to?”

  We whirled to find Chaz staring at us, a smirk on his face, hands tucked in the pockets of his seersucker trousers. His matching suit coat was open to reveal a light blue cotton button up, open at the throat. It was too hot for a tie. A straw boater with a wide blue and red band was tipped at a rakish angle over his forehead.

  “Um, we got lost,” I said.

  He smirked. “Liar. You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong, weren’t you?”

  Might as well admit it. “Naturally.”

  “We were eavesdropping on the police,” Aunt Butty explained calmly, “and got ourselves locked in the cellar.”

  “Why didn’t you pick the lock?” Chaz asked, amused.

  “I tried. I couldn’t get it open. So we had to find another way out.”

  “A rather grubby one, by the looks of it.” He reached out and flicked something from my shoulder.

  “What was that?” I demanded suspiciously.

  “Nothing.” He gave an innocent little bat of his ridiculously thick lashes. I was so envious of those lashes. I had to wield my cake of mascara quite liberally to achieve the same effect. “I think the two of you might want to sneak in the back way and make some repairs. The police are questioning everyone, and your—ah—current appearance might be cause for suspicion.”

  He wasn’t wrong there. “I thought Harry had convinced that detective person to leave.”

  “Apparently not. He’s poking about, causing an uproar. Now get along with you before someone catches you.”

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” I begged.

  “Darling. As if you had to ask.”

  As Aunt Butty and I scurried toward our rooms, I could swear I heard him laughing at us.

  Chapter 5

  Aunt Butty and I managed to avoid the police and sneak upstairs to refresh ourselves. Maddie was nowhere to be seen, but once again, I didn’t mind. No doubt she was pressing something. Or hiding in a corner with a book and a cup of tea, which she sometimes did when we were at home. It gave me the chance to clean up without her asking uncomfortable questions.

  My clothes were a disaster, smeared with streaks of dirty gray, so I gave them a shake out the window to lose any creepy crawlies and draped them over the chaise longue. Maddie could have them washed later.

  After repairing my makeup and fluffing my hair, ridding it of dust and cobwebs, I dug in my wardrobe for a new outfit. It was already getting rather warm, so I went with high-waisted, white trousers and a V-necked ribbed top that was navy and white striped. It was all very nautical. I tied a contrasting pink and white silk scarf around my throat, despite the heat. It was just too cute not to. I slipped
on my white ghillies sandals with the red trim, tying them neatly around my trim ankles. I may have more curves than fashionable, but I was very proud of my ankles.

  Looking rather more put together, I descended the stairs, only to be immediately caught out by Brown Suit. “Ah ha!” He pointed a thick finger at me in an accusing manner.

  “Ah ha, indeed. Do you mind pointing that thing elsewhere?” I drawled, continuing my leisurely downward decent, shooting him one of my languid lady-of-the-manor looks complete with nose in the air. Felix said I’d perfected it. I like to think so.

  “Don’t be a cad, Willis. This is Ophelia, Lady Rample, widow of the late Lord Rample. She’s one of my houseguests.” Harry appeared in a nearby doorway looking amused. Clearly, he wasn’t taking the break-in, or this Willis person, seriously.

  “Pardon me, your ladyship.” Willis sketched an awkward bow, equal parts fawning and resentful. How he pulled that off, I couldn’t imagine. “Detective Inspector Willis, at your service. I’ve come about the, er, situation.”

  “Situation? How astonishing! I had no idea we had a situation.” I’d finally reached the bottom of the stairs and leaned casually against the balustrade.

  Willis wobbled a bit, clearly unsure how to take my comment. Harry, on the other hand, hid a smirk. He was looking rather dashing with fawn colored high pants and a soft red polo shirt. Casual, yet elegant. No wonder Aunt Butty was smitten, though she would never admit such a thing.

  “Er, yes. Well...I really must speak with you, Lady Rample,” Willis finally managed.

  “About?” I arched a brow at him, still playing arrogant aristo to the hilt.

  “The situation, of course,” Harry said helpfully and with a snicker.

  “Perhaps you might clarify what this situation is?” I asked as if Aunt Butty and I hadn’t already had our noses in police business, with a collection of cobwebs to prove it. Of course, the last person I wanted finding out about our little adventure was the detective in charge. He’d probably lock us up for being busybodies.

  “If you would join me in the drawing room,” Willis said with all due deference to my station and a bit more bowing and scraping. Though I could tell from the slight scowl between his brows that he wasn’t happy about it.