Lady Rample Spies a Clue

by Shéa MacLeod

  “If that’s what he says, then you should believe him. He’s one of the best.” I studied her closely. “Maddie, do you recall the scarf I was wearing the afternoon after the break-in? The one with pink and white stripes.”

  “Of course, m’lady.”

  “Do you remember if I was wearing it when I came up to get ready for supper later that day?”

  She scrunched up her face in thought. “No, my lady, you weren’t. Fact, I went down to find it thinking you must ‘ave left it somewhere. I even checked the garden.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “No. Somebody picked it up.” She frowned. “I think it was that Binky person.”

  My eyebrows went up at that. “Binky took my scarf?”

  “I’m almost certain of it. When I stepped out on the terrace, he was standing next to the table. When he heard me, he turned around and looked all guilty. He was holding something in his hand, all scrunched up like. I asked had he seen your scarf and he barked at me like I was an idiot and walked away. I thought on it, and I’m pretty sure that’s what he was holding. But I couldn’t very well tell on him. Who’d believe me against a lord?”

  She had a point. “You could have told me.”

  She shrugged. “I was gonna get Mary, that’s the maid as cleans his room, to poke around for it. But before I could ask, that whole thing with the dead guy happened. Who was he?”

  “We still don’t know, I’m afraid.” Even to my maid I wasn’t going to mention the fact I’d seen the dead man with Binky. But I did think it was an interesting coincidence that Binky had also likely taken my scarf.

  After assuring myself that Maddie was well, I exited the police station, my mind spinning. Binky had shown up at a party in the middle of nowhere where he knew no one and proceeded to have a secret meeting with a man who later turned up dead. Binky had also likely taken my scarf which was later used in an attempt to strangle me. Yes, Binky and I needed to have a conversation. And this time I was bringing in the big guns.

  AS I PULLED INTO THE drive at Wit’s End, I passed Harry’s Bentley pulling out, the chauffeur at the wheel and Harry in the back, nose in a paper. I smiled to myself. This was the perfect time to search the chauffeur’s quarters.

  Instead of pulling up to the front door, I drove around to the garage. No one was in sight, so I slipped inside and took the stairs to the upper floor where the chauffeur’s apartment was. The door was unlocked so I stepped inside and took stock.

  It was one large room tucked up under the eaves of the garage. To my left was a tiny kitchenette with a cooker barely big enough to boil a kettle on. To the side of that was a small sink above which hung a rack for dishes and cups. On the other side was a curtained area which I assumed held the loo.

  Straight ahead was a table big enough for two, tucked up under a low window. On either side were rickety chairs. They looked like antiques and had no doubt come from the big house at some point. Probably Harry had ditched them when he was renovating. In the center of the room on a round braided rug was a single armchair and next to it a stand which held a lamp and a radio.

  To the right, in the darkest corner, was a narrow bed and next to it a single door wardrobe made of cheap pinewood.

  “Eureka,” I muttered to myself.

  I threw open the door of the wardrobe. In addition to regular clothing, a single chauffeur’s uniform hung neatly. Obviously, he was wearing the other, so I couldn’t check that, but I doubted he’d be wearing a uniform with a missing button. I checked the spare. The brass buttons were similar to the one Chaz had found, but the spare uniform had all its buttons. Dash it all.

  I checked the hamper and found nothing but a handful of dirty linens and shirts. So, unless he was running around in a uniform that was missing a button, the chauffeur was out. It had been too easy anyway.

  I returned to the house, more convinced than ever that Binky held the clues to all of this. I needed to confront him once and for all, but I was going to need help.

  I found Aunt Butty in the morning room, sipping tea, and reading a rather torrid romance novel. I made a mental note to borrow it at some point in the future.

  “Ophelia,” she exclaimed when I entered. “How is poor Maddie?”

  “Holding up.” I quickly told her what I’d discovered and outlined my plan.

  She smiled smugly and set aside her novel. “Oh, this should be fun. Lead on!”

  Chapter 16

  Binky was at one of the tables in the garden sipping what looked like lemonade. I was betting there was something stronger in it. Binky didn’t strike me as the lemonade sipping type.

  Aunt Butty took a seat to his left. I sat on his right. Binky glanced askance from one to the other of us. “What are you two up to?” His tone was rife with suspicion.

  “We need to have a discussion, nephew.”

  He sneered at Aunt Butty. “You are no relation of mine.”

  “But you are a relation of Ophelia’s—if only by marriage—and therefore, you are unfortunately a part of my family.”

  He blinked, her logic clearly confusing him. Finally, he sighed heavily and with no little exasperation. “What do you want?”

  “We know you tried to kill me,” I said.

  His mouth dropped opened. “What the deuce?” His surprised seemed genuine. “Why ever would I do that?”

  “To get your hands on my money.”

  “As if that’s even a possibility,” he scoffed. “I’ve no doubt you’ve left it to your aunt. Or some home for wayward cats.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” I said calmly. “Still, we know you did it.”

  “I did not! This is ridiculous. What makes you think I would do such a thing?”

  “Besides the fact you’re jealous of me?” I asked. “How about you stole my scarf. The scarf that was used to strangle me.”

  He sputtered a little, and finally managed. “Did not.”

  We both stared at him, silent. He fidgeted. Aunt Butty leaned toward him a little. He nearly fell out of his chair.

  “All right. I took it. I admit it. It was just lying there on the divan and I thought...well, maybe it would come in useful.”

  “For what?” I asked, curious.

  He shrugged. “I, ah, don’t know. But the point is, I didn’t try and kill you. Because the very next night, it was gone from my room. I assumed one of the maids stole it.”

  I glanced at Aunt Butty. “What do you think?”

  “I’m afraid he’s telling the truth. Or at least part of it.” She leaned even closer to Binky, her eyes narrowing. “Why would you need Ophelia’s scarf? What use could you have for it? Let me guess...you were going to frame her for that man’s murder!”

  He looked a little stunned. “Why ever would I do that? I didn’t kill him. Why would I kill him?” His voice had gone squeaky.

  “Because,” she said, giving him a sly smile, “you were spying for him.”

  “You’ve no proof,” he spluttered.

  Which, of course, was all the proof we needed. Butty leaned back, crowing in triumph. “So, you are a spy!”

  “It’s not...it’s not spying,” he hissed. “And lower your voice.”

  “What is it, then?” I asked.

  He rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m in a rather precarious position thanks to my cousin Felix. I’ve got this massive estate. Total money pit, but I can’t get rid of it. There are ways to maybe turn a profit with it, but I need money to fix it up. See?”

  I was impressed that he had even gone to the trouble of figuring out a way to make the estate work rather than letting it rot. He’d never shown an ounce of initiative before. Otherwise Felix might have left him some money.

  “Go on,” Aunt Butty urged.

  “Well, I went to the banks, but it was a no go. None of my so-called friends would help, either. I thought it was a lost cause when I was contacted by this man.”

  “The dead one?” I asked. “The one you were talking to in the church on the day of the
fete?”

  He nodded. “His name is Barker. He told me he could help. I laughed at him, of course. I mean, he wasn’t of our class, was he?”

  I ignored the bigoted attitude and urged him to continue.

  “Barker said he represented someone who had need of certain...information. A businessman who wanted to compete for government contracts, that sort of thing. If I could get this information, then he would give me what I needed for the estate.” Binky rubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “By this point, I was desperate. And I figured there was no harm in it. What would it hurt if this man got the government contracts instead of some other chump?”

  “Binky, you are an idiot. That man wasn’t working for some contractor. He was a foreign spy.” I had zero proof of that, but I was hazarding a wild guess based on equally wild conjecture.

  He went sheet white. “Why would you say that? It’s not...it can’t be true.”

  “We have our methods,” Aunt Butty said. “Why would you do such a stupid thing, Binky?”

  He tugged at his hair. “I was in too deep. There was nothing else I could do. And you can’t tell anyone. They’ll hang me for treason.”

  “No doubt,” Aunt Butty said dryly. “It is treason.”

  “But I didn’t know!” he all but wailed. “How could I have known?”

  “Maybe you should have tried not spying in the first place,” I snapped. “What was the meeting in the church about?”

  He looked miserable. “I was sent here to gather information from the meeting between Harry deVane and Neville Chamberlain. Only when I went to deliver it, I decided enough was enough. I told Barker I was done. Lied and said someone knew about me. I thought he’d let me go if they thought I was compromised.”

  “But they didn’t,” I mused.

  He shook his head. “Barker threatened me. I didn’t know what else to do!”

  “So you lured your contact to the manor and murdered him,” Aunt Butty said.

  “No! No, I did not. I was...I was going to turn myself in. Tell Harry or Varant or somebody. Hope they threw me in prison or something instead of hanging me.” He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do. And then my contact—Barker—turned up dead in Harry’s study. I knew then I couldn’t tell anybody. They’d think I’d killed him.”

  “What was your contact doing at Wit’s End?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No idea. I assume he was going to harm me. Or maybe he was trying to find more information on Harry and Chamberlain’s dealings.”

  I tapped my lower lip. “And the break in? Were you behind that?”

  “Of course. I stole the papers that Chamberlain had brought to Harry. But I couldn’t just take them, I had to make it look like it was an outside job. So I staged the break in.”

  “What was in them?” Aunt Butty asked.

  He shook his head. “No idea. They were sealed in a manila envelope.”

  “And the man who hired Barker in the first place?” I asked. “Your real employer, who is he?”

  “I don’t know.” He tugged at his tie as if it was suddenly strangling him. “Barker never told me. Just called him ‘our friend’ or ‘Mr. X.’”

  “Did he say anything else about Mr. X?” I asked. “Anything at all? Anything that might clue us in to his identity.”

  “No. No. Just ‘our friend, Mr. X.’ And that Mr. X was close by, watching.” He shuddered.

  “What about the documents you burned in the fireplace?” I asked.

  He blinked. “What documents? I didn’t burn anything. Just grabbed the envelope, broke the window, and ran.”

  It totally made sense. I turned to Aunt Butty. “Do you believe him?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  Binky let out a shuddered sigh of relief. “Now what? Are you going to turn me in?”

  “No, I think not,” Aunt Butty said. “You know what you did was wrong, and you won’t do it again. Will you?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Of course not.”

  Her smile was sly. “Good. And one of these days, I’m going to have a use for you.”

  Binky paled.

  WITH BINKY OUT OF THE frame as either the killer or my attacker, I felt like we were nearly back to square one. Nearly. Somebody had still lost a button. Someone had still stolen my scarf from Binky. Someone who smelled like baked goods.

  What I needed was some thinking time. And a good, stiff drink.

  I returned to the house and the drawing room where I knew Harry kept the alcohol. Or at least enough I could make myself a beverage.

  I found Amelia Kettington sitting next to the window, placidly knitting. Her needles clacked gently as the green wool turned into something else like magic. It looked like a scarf or shawl.

  I helped myself to the drinks cart, quickly whipping up my new favorite cocktail, before strolling over to Amelia. I hadn’t much spoken to the youngest Kettington sister and thought now might be a good time. Maybe something would shake loose while my mind was on the inane. I had intended to ask her about what she’d overheard the night of the break-in, but it was no longer important, seeing as we knew Binky was behind it. “May I join you?”

  She glanced up, peering at me over her little half-moon glasses. “But of course, Lady Rample.”

  “Ophelia, please.”

  She smiled. “Right. Ophelia. Such a lovely name.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a seat. “What are you making?”

  “A blanket for my cousin’s new grandson. I do so enjoy making things. Don’t you?”

  “Ah, I’m not much for handicrafts,” I admitted. “I’m all thumbs. Though I greatly admire those with the skills for it.”

  She smiled beneficently. “Well, we can’t all be so talented.”

  “I understand you grew up here. At Wit’s End.”

  She glanced around looking a little sad. “Yes, indeed. Although it was called Twin Oaks back then. Father sold it when I was a young woman, you see. We simply couldn’t keep up with it. Too much expense. It was the smart thing to sell.”

  “It must have been hard though.”

  “It was very difficult,” she admitted. “More so for Ethel. I think she felt that by losing our home, we lost our place in society, as well.”

  “Is that true?”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it is, in part. We are no longer the ‘ladies of the manor’ so to speak. It’s Harry who is asked to open fetes and cut ribbons and that nonsense. I don’t mind. I’d rather be home. But Ethel...she feels the slight very keenly, I’m afraid.”

  I drained my cocktail and set it aside, suddenly realizing the sweet scent that had been teasing my nose wasn’t entirely from the drink. And it was a scent I recognized. “I’m sorry, are you wearing perfume?”

  She seemed a bit startled by my intimate question. Then she laughed. “Oh, no, dear. I never wear the stuff. It’s a liniment. Works wonders for arthritis and such.” She held up a hand, the knuckles a little thick. “My hands were a little stiff this morning, so I borrowed some from Ethel. Smells delightful doesn’t it? Vanilla so it doesn’t smell so...medicinal.”

  “The ointment is your sister’s?”

  “Yes, dear. She uses it all the time.”

  Suddenly, everything clicked into place. “Excuse me, will you, Amelia?”

  “Of course, dear,” she said gently. “I suppose you need to get ready for the party tonight.”

  “Oh, is that this evening?” I’d completely lost track of time.

  “Yes, dear. The guests will be arriving any minute. It’ll be just like old times.” Her face glowed with happiness.

  “Yes, of course,” I murmured. But I wasn’t listening. I was thinking furiously. I knew who the killer was.

  Chapter 17

  There was no time to wait for Aunt Butty, Chaz, or anyone else. Time was of the essence. What if she tried to kill again? I had to stop her.

  I searched the entir
e house, unable to find my quarry anywhere. Scouring the gardens produced similar results, until, at last, I found her down near the reflecting pool feeding the swans. Sure enough, I realized as I stepped close that she smelled just like my attacker had. Vanilla, and what I realized now was likely mint.

  “Hello, Ethel.”

  She turned her head, her long, horsey face creased in a scowl. “It’s Miss Kettington to you.”

  “Then it’s Lady Rample to you.”

  She snorted. “Just because you married above your station, doesn’t mean you are one of us. Despite my lack of title, breeding will tell.”

  “Ah, then I suppose I should mention my maternal grandfather was an Earl.” Technically, it was my great-grandfather, but I decided she didn’t need to know that.

  Her startled expression gave me a thrill. “How is that...never mind. It doesn’t matter. Please leave me be. I wish to be alone.”

  “I don’t think so. You see, I know what you did and why you did it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Pardon?” Her tone was haughty, her nose tilted ever so slightly up.

  “You hated that you lost your home to someone like Harry deVane. Someone with no title or family. Someone so far beneath you. And yet, here he was, living the high life in your home while you struggled to make ends meet in some ghastly cottage in the village where those who once kowtowed now stare at you in pity.”

  Her face flushed an angry, mottled red. “What of it?”

  “It isn’t fair, is it?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “Nothing I can do about it.” She threw a bit of bread rather viciously and it bounced off a swan’s head. The bird let out an angry squawk, flapping its wings.

  “But you could,” I said. “If you have the money.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “You don’t now, but you had a plan to get it.”

  She gave me a look like she thought I was a crazy person. “And how, exactly, was I going to do that?”

  “A man approached you. He wanted information and he thought you could get it. If you did, he would give you enough money to buy back this place. And so, you became a spy.”