Lady Rample Spies a Clue

by Shéa MacLeod

  “I’ll be out on the veranda if you need me,” Harry said. “I think I’ll get out the croquet set and get everyone together for a game. Cheerio!” And he exited stage right, as they say—or was it left? In any case, he departed as if his pants were in the proverbial fire and left me to the tender mercies of Brown Suit.

  Without another word, I followed Willis into the drawing room, empty at this hour. No doubt the rest of the company were either out and about or recovering from their own grilling. I took a seat on the divan while Willis took a chair opposite me. I noticed that the uniform was sitting on a straight back chair in a shadowy corner, pencil and notebook in hand, looking a little ill at ease. How unobtrusive of him.

  “Perhaps you have heard, my lady, that Mr. deVane’s study was broken into last night,” Willis began after a bit of throat clearing and foot shuffling.

  “I hadn’t heard, actually,” I lied blithely. It may be a failing of mine, but I believe I’m rather accomplished at prevarication. When you grow up as I did, it becomes a matter of self-preservation.

  He tapped his pen against his notebook and I noted the dark hair of his eyebrows matched the hair on the back of his knuckles. “Were you not aware the police have been here all morning?” he asked, thick eyebrows rising toward receding hairline.

  “As a matter of fact, no.”

  “And, er, how did you manage to miss that?” His look said he clearly didn’t believe me.

  “I like to sleep in.” I held out my right hand and pretended to study my manicure.

  “Until eleven?” he blurted. My blasé attitude was having its desired effect.

  “What of it?” Hopefully he wouldn’t grill Chaz and discover Aunt Butty and I had been wandering about the garden.

  “Right. Well.” He harrumphed a bit. “How do you know Mr. deVane?”

  “I don’t. Not really. My aunt is friends with him—known him for yonks—and he kindly extended an invitation to include me.”

  Willis nodded as if I’d confirmed what he already knew. “What were your movements last night?”

  “From what point?”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Do you want to know all about my pre-dinner toilette? The entire conversation at table? Or perhaps my preparations for bed?”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally, he managed, “How about we start with what time you went to bed.”

  “Very well. It was about one in the morning before I called it quits and went upstairs.”

  “And was anyone else up at that time?”

  “Certainly. Harry...Mr. deVane, was still locked in his study. I assume with Mr. Chamberlain and Lord Varant.”

  Willis nodded. Clearly, he’d heard that part of the story already. “Go on.”

  “Chaz, my friend Mr. Raynott, was still in the drawing room along with Miss Semple and Lord Rample.”

  Confusion marred his brow. “I thought Lord Rample was dead.”

  “The new Lord Rample. My husband’s cousin, Binky.”

  “Binky?”

  “Yes. That’s what everyone calls him. Although he’s actually called Alphonse Flanders, Lord Rample and whatnot.”

  He mulled that over. “Right. Anyone else?”

  “No. The other guests had all gone to bed already.”

  “You went up alone?”

  I nodded. “I did. Although I did peek in on my aunt to see how she was doing. She was still awake, reading. I bid her goodnight and went to my own room where my maid helped me prepare for bed.”

  “You brought your own maid?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Er, right. Your maid’s name?” Willis asked.

  “Maddie.”

  “Maddie what?”

  “Maddie Crewe.”

  “English?” He seemed surprised. Not that I blamed him. A lot of upper crust matrons preferred maids of the French variety. Not that I considered myself a matron. It sounded so...old and stuffy. But, I suppose, in society’s eyes I was, indeed, a matron. Shudder.

  “It would seem.” The truth was, I knew exactly where Maddie came from, but I wasn’t about to tell Willis. She may be a very odd sort for a maid, but she was terribly efficient when necessary. She had a tendency to speak her mind and forget her titles. But only when it suited her. And her secrets, such as they were, weren’t mine to tell. Certainly not to a police detective.

  “I’ll need to speak with her, as well.”

  “I’m certain that can be arranged,” I said blandly. I’d have to advise Maddie not to let on that I’d been out of bed well before the police arrived.

  “Did you go to sleep immediately?”

  “Very shortly thereafter, yes.”

  “And did you get up at any point of the night? Hear any odd noises? That sort of thing.”

  “I’m afraid not, Inspector—”

  “Detective Inspector.”

  “Fair enough. Detective Inspector.” It amused me that while he didn’t mind flubbing my title, he was very set on me using his properly. Although I suppose in his case he’d rightfully earned it whereas I’d simply married into it. “I slept deeply and well and didn’t wake until morning.”

  He eyed me with suspicion. “Convenient.”

  “Not really. If I’d known I needed an alibi, I’d have arranged for one.” I knew it was poking the bear, so to speak, but I couldn’t resist. He practically asked for it.

  “You get all that down, Smith?” Willis barked, trying to hide he flush of anger in his cheeks. I’d certainly hit a nerve with this one.

  “Yes, sir,” the constable in the corner piped.

  “Well, then, Lady Rample. I guess you can go.”

  “Before I do, do you mind telling me what this is all about? Was something stolen?” I asked. I didn’t have a lot of hope that DI Willis would blurt out everything he knew but hope springs eternal.

  “I’m afraid this is a police matter, Lady Rample,” he said gruffly.

  “Ah, well, curiosity and all that,” I said airily as I rose from the divan and strode toward the door. I spun at the last minute, as though I’d just thought of something. Widening my eyes, I said, “We aren’t in danger, are we?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think so, my lady,” Willis assured me with that sort of smug superiority such men as he often has toward what they consider the “weaker sex.” “Whoever it was shouldn’t be back.”

  “How do you know? How can you be sure?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  “They got what they came for, didn’t they?” the young, uniformed policeman blurted.

  Willis shot him a dirty look, and the young constable blushed furiously, ducking his head. Poor man. No doubt he’d get one doozy of a reaming from his superior once I left.

  As for me, it did answer one question: Something had been stolen from Harry deVane’s office. The question was, what?

  “THAT WILLIS PERSON is a fiend,” Aunt Butty declared as she took a seat across from me. She pulled out a hand fan from somewhere on her person and waved it vigorously.

  I was sitting at a small table in a particularly shady spot on the lawn. A light breeze occasionally kicked up, teasing my hair, and making the heat marginally bearable. Chaz, Miss Semple, and the Misses Kettington were playing lawn croquet. Every now and then the smack of wooden mallet against one of the balls echoed across the garden, along with the excited murmur of voices.

  Jarvis had informed us that luncheon would be served outside as per Mr. deVane’s orders. He hadn’t seemed pleased about it, but I thought dining al fresco was a marvelous idea. It was far too hot to be cooped up inside.

  I tugged at the scarf around my throat. It was definitely too hot. I loosened the knot, removed the offending fabric, and dropped it over the arm of my chair. “I take it Willis interrogated you, too?”

  Her rate of fanning increased with her aggravation. “And how. I gave him a piece of my mind, let me tell you.”

  I could well imagine. “You didn’t mention our little adventure this morning
, did you, Aunt?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, adjusting her floppy straw hat which was decorated with several different colored rosettes and ribbons which dripped down her back. She’d exchanged the trouser outfit for a light cotton dress in rose pink over which she’d tossed a nearly sheer kimono-type garment with wide, flowing sleeves. A pair of round, tortoiseshell sunglasses perched on her small, straight nose. She looked just this side of ridiculous.

  A footman marched down the lawn carrying another table. Behind him trailed a couple maids with chairs, Mrs. Bates, her arm laden with linens, and a second footman with a basket, no doubt containing table settings.

  Stoically, the footman set up the table and chairs and marched away while the maids quickly draped the table and set it with silver and china. The footman reappeared with another table, and the process repeated itself.

  “He wanted to know about Maddie,” Aunt Butty said in a low voice.

  Something like a cold chill skittered its way down my spine. “Why? She’s nothing to do with this.”

  “Apparently, she’s the only one they haven’t questioned yet. And she’s nowhere to be found. Have you seen her?”

  “Not since this morning,” I admitted. She’d been gone when we’d returned from the garden, but I hadn’t given any thought to it. I hadn’t needed her assistance, after all, and took no issue with her filling her time in other ways, as long as she was available when needed. “Perhaps she has...made herself scarce. Not everyone is comfortable talking with the police.” And Maddie definitely wouldn’t be. Especially not after I’d told her about the spy.

  “True,” Aunt Butty agreed. “Though she has your protection, and avoiding Willis only makes him the more suspicious. As if that poor girl would have anything to do with whatever nonsense is going on.”

  I was in full agreement, but well aware the police wouldn’t be. “This must have to do with the whole spy situation. I can’t see any way around it. Too many coincidences.”

  “Agreed.” Aunt Butty gave a nod that nearly upset her hat. “Though I still find it strange there’s a spy in Devon. London I could understand, but we’re practically in the middle of nowhere.”

  At that moment, Harry deVane appeared on the top step, a pipe clenched between his teeth, observing his domain. He’d one hand tucked in his jacket pocket and clutched the pipe with the other. “Butty, my darling!” he crowed, pulling it out of his mouth and waving it about. “What a glorious day.” He descended the flagstone steps at a leisurely pace.

  “If you can call being grilled by the police glorious,” Aunt Butty said drily.

  “Really, old gel, it’s nothing to get alarmed about.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek before taking a seat at our table.

  “You don’t consider a robbery alarming?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “These things happen. What can one do?”

  These things did not happen. Well, it wasn’t that they never happened, but that this particular example was...unusual.

  I opened my mouth to ask what had been stolen but was interrupted.

  “Is it luncheon yet? I’m half starved,” Chaz declared as he appeared from around a hedge. He strolled across the lawn and took the final seat at our table. “I do hope Mrs. Bates has managed something appetizing.”

  “I’m sure Cook has a glorious repast,” Harry assured him. “I told Mrs. Bates to give her free rein.”

  The other guests drifted over—abandoning the croquet—taking places at the other tables. I caught snippets of conversation, but no one seemed unduly upset by the morning’s kerfuffle. Miss Semple was whining about the police wasting her time, but otherwise, no one seemed upset.

  Jarvis appeared along with the footmen and a couple maids laden with trays. We were promptly served cold pork pies and beef sandwiches on lovely fresh baked bread with tangy horseradish cream and fresh tomatoes—no doubt from Harry’s kitchen garden. This was followed by another lovely summer pudding made with fresh berries and sweet cream. Divine. I ate more than my fair share, I’m not ashamed to admit. The cold lunch was a perfect accompaniment to a hot day.

  The conversation was a bit of a disappointment, however. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t manage to overhear any interesting conversations. And try as she might, Aunt Butty couldn’t get Harry to confess the truth about what was really going on or what had been stolen from his study. Instead, he steered the conversation to reminiscences of their past. Which, under normal circumstances might have been interesting, but as things were, I simply couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the mystery before me.

  Worst of all, in the back of my mind, I’d started to truly worry about Maddie. It wasn’t that I believed she had anything to do with the break-in. The idea was preposterous. But her disappearance was too coincidental, and I’d no doubt Willis would look askance upon it. And her.

  I needed to find Maddie tout suite. Before she ended up at the wrong end of a police investigation.

  Chapter 6

  I excused myself immediately after luncheon, beckoning Aunt Butty to follow me. We met in the upper hall outside our rooms.

  “Why the cloak and dagger business?” she hissed.

  I quickly explained my increasing worries about Maddie. “I need to find her. Get her to talk to Willis before he gets any more suspicious.”

  “Perhaps you can forestall him. She’s been with you for yonks.”

  “She’s only been with me two years. That’s hardly yonks.” I glanced around. “And if he finds out the truth...”

  Aunt Butty’s eyes narrowed. “What truth?”

  I sighed. I felt I had to tell her. “Maddie was born in Germany.”

  Now Aunt Butty’s eyes widened. “You never told me that. She doesn’t have an accent. Well, not a German one.”

  “Her parents brought her to England when she was a small child. Just before the Great War. She told me the truth when I hired her, of course, but at the time, I found it neither here nor there. Still don’t. But Willis might.”

  “I understand now why he would. If the thief was a German spy—”

  “Maddie is not a spy.”

  “But how do you know?” Aunt Butty insisted. “She could still have ties there.”

  “Because she’s Jewish.” There. I’d said it.

  Aunt Butty blinked. “Oh. Well, that certainly resolves the spy issue.” She seemed completely unfazed about Maddie’s origins. Which I should have expected. The rest of the world might turn up their noses, but Aunt Butty never judged a person on her ancestors. After all, according to her, our own ancestors hadn’t exactly been entirely upright.

  “Right, so we need to find her.”

  “Yes,” Aunt Butty agreed, “although for her sake, she may want to avoid mentioning the German angle.”

  “No doubt,” I said drily. “I’ll check the maids’ rooms first. Then brave the kitchens.”

  “Very daring of you. And while you do that, I shall try and get the goods from Harry.”

  My aunt had been reading American detective stories again. Get the goods, indeed. No doubt she’d get him drunk. Aunt Butty could drink any man under the table. She claimed she’d learned a few tricks whilst visiting a friend in Dublin. I had no doubt of it.

  The servants’ quarters were in the attic, four flights up. By the time I reached the top of the somewhat rickety staircase, I had a stitch in my side and was feeling a bit winded. I could dance all night if the mood struck, but stairs were the Devil’s work.

  At the top of the stairs was a long, narrow hall with doors on either side. I’d no idea which room was Maddie’s, so I knocked on the first door. When I got no answer, I pushed it open. The room was painted stark white, with no adornments save a wooden cross on the wall, just a bare wood floor and a narrow cot for a bed. Next to the bed was a stand holding a cheap lamp and a ragged copy of the Bible. A wash stand stood in one corner and there were pegs for hanging clothes, one empty and one containing what looked like a dress for
Sunday best and a simple straw hat. Depressing.

  The next room was much the same, save instead of a cross there were magazine cutouts of a couple of well-known actors and actresses, and instead of a Bible there was a romance novel with a rather lurid cover. I approved.

  And so on down the hall. The smallest, ugliest room of all was clearly Maddie’s. She appeared to be sharing it with one of the maids. I recognized the book on the floor next to a camp cot as one from my own library, and the Sunday best dress and hat on the spare hook as Maddie’s own. But of Maddie there was no sign.

  I tromped down the many flights of stairs to the kitchen. The clanging of pots assailed my ears and the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread teased my nose as I rounded a corner. I popped my head through the doorway. At first no one noticed.

  The woman I assumed was “Cook” was bent over the stove, tasting something bubbling in a pot. Her wide backside stretched her gray uniform dress to the utmost and the large apron wrapped around her middle was well worn and more off-white than white. Next to her, a nervous young girl in a matching oversized apron fidgeted. There was no one else in the room.

  “Does it taste alright?” the girl asked in a high-pitched, nervous tone. Her large eyes protruded slightly from a narrow face and her overbite could have given Binky a run for his money.

  The cook smacked her lips. “Needs salt.” She pinched some from a bowl next to the stove, added it, and gave the pot a stir. Another sample and, “That’ll do it.”

  They both turned at that moment and spotted me. Cook frowned mightily, the heavy features of her face making her look positively fearsome. “Your ladyship shouldn’t be down here. Not proper.”

  “I’m looking for my maid. Maddie. Have you seen her?” I asked, ignoring proprieties as I often did.

  “No, m’lady. Have you, Joany?” Cook fixed a glare on the young girl.

  Joany looked like she might faint. “N-no, Cook. Not since this morning.”

  I sighed. “Oh, dear. I really must speak to her. I don’t suppose the other maids have seen her?”