Death Wears a Mask

by Ashley Weaver

  “Mamie tells me you’ll be dining with us tonight,” he said.

  “Yes, I plan to be there.”

  “Good, good. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” He glanced at Lord Dunmore. “No luck upstairs. Is it all right if I check the ballroom once more?”

  “Certainly. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

  Mr. Douglas-Hughes turned to me and smiled. “Until this evening, Mrs. Ames.”

  I watched him go and turned back to Lord Dunmore a bit expectantly.

  “It seems his wife dropped an earring at the ball. He told her that he’d come and look for it. She was afraid the servants wouldn’t find it.”

  This explanation gave me pause, and I tried to determine why.

  We reached the door, and I turned and extended my hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Lord Dunmore.”

  He took my hand and held it.

  “Alexander,” he corrected. “And it was my pleasure, I assure you. I’ll certainly consider Mrs. Barrington’s suggestion … In fact, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh?” I asked warily.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, and I’ll give you my answer.”

  I hesitated. On one hand, it would be an excellent opportunity to find out more about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. On the other, I suspected that too much time in his company could only lead to trouble. Though I thought I had made my disinterest in anything more than friendship quite clear, I was fairly certain that my scruples would not deter him much.

  “I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” I said at last, sliding my hand from his grasp.

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, there’s bound to be talk if we’re seen together.”

  “What if there is? After all, sometimes it’s best to fight fire with fire.”

  I knew that he was referring to Milo and Helene Renault, but I didn’t wish to discuss that, not now and not with him. Besides, just because Milo had been behaving badly didn’t mean I felt any inclination to do the same.

  “One fire is quite enough at present,” I replied.

  “Well, we needn’t go out in public, if you’d rather not. I have an excellent cook. We could have a quiet dinner here.”

  Everything he said was perfectly proper and polite, but there was an undertone to his words, something in his body language, that let me know the invitation was for more than dinner.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea either,” I replied. There was something thoroughly unwholesome about Lord Dunmore, and I thought it would be best not to give him any undue encouragement.

  He smiled again, a knowing smile. “Perhaps a compromise then? I know a nice, quiet place where we’re not likely to be seen.”

  Some part of me was signaling that I needed to tread carefully, but I felt that I could scarcely refuse if I wanted him to agree to the scheme Mrs. Barrington and I had concocted.

  “That might be all right,” I said at last.

  “Excellent. Shall I pick you up?”

  I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before I nodded. “That would be lovely.”

  “Until tomorrow then,” he said with a smile. “I shall look forward to it immensely.”

  I left the house and walked toward where Markham was waiting with the car. A frown furrowed my brow as I considered all that had just happened. There was something troubling me, and it wasn’t only that I had just made a dinner engagement with a notorious rogue.

  What really bothered me was that Mr. Douglas-Hughes had claimed that Mamie had lost an earring and that he had come to search for it. I had cast my mind back to the ball, and I was certain.

  Mamie Douglas-Hughes hadn’t been wearing earrings.

  * * *

  I WAS HOPING for a few quiet moments when I got home to try to settle my thoughts. Alas, it was not to be.

  “Mr. Ames is here, madam,” said Winnelda, rushing at me with a somewhat wide-eyed, panicked expression on her face as I came in the door. The poor girl obviously thought I was going to fly into hysterics at the presence of my husband.

  “Is he?” I replied calmly, removing my coat, hat, and gloves. I had not expected him, and I was not certain I was ready to see him. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be done about that now.

  “Yes, madam. He’s been waiting in the parlor for thirty minutes.”

  “Then I suppose I better not keep him.”

  I turned resolutely toward the parlor, irritated that he had arrived without warning. I was only glad that I had been out and he had been forced to wait. Milo hated waiting.

  He was thumbing through a book, but he put it aside and stood as I came into the room. He was dressed in a light gray suit and, for some absurd reason, looked even more handsome than usual. Perhaps it was a side effect of his newfound amour. I felt vaguely ill as the image of Helene Renault in his embrace flashed through my mind.

  “Hello, darling,” he said, completely at ease.

  “Hello.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. You needn’t stand on ceremony, Milo. Sit down.”

  He sat, his eyes on my face, as I chose a chair on the opposite side of the room. As usual, I could determine nothing of what he was thinking from his posture or expression.

  It seemed the same could not be said of me. “You’re looking a bit peaked, Amory.”

  “Thank you,” I replied wryly. “You always say the loveliest things.”

  “Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m feeling fine, thank you.” I did not bother to hide my annoyance. “Have you come to inquire after my health, or is there some other reason you’re here?”

  “I’ve come to ask you to have dinner with me,” he answered, unfazed by my terseness.

  I studied him, a bit surprised by this request. “Why?”

  “For the pleasure of your company.”

  “I should have thought you had more pleasant company with which to occupy your time.”

  “Helene’s gone back to Paris, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t wondering,” I snapped. His saying her name in that casual way upset me more than I liked to admit.

  “She went back the night that photograph was taken. I haven’t seen her since, nor do I care if I ever set eyes on her again.”

  It was too little too late. The damage had been done; one couldn’t undo an affair by breaking it off.

  “I don’t want to talk about her, Milo. Her whereabouts are of no interest to me.”

  “They’re of no interest to me either,” he replied, a hint of impatience in his voice. “You’ll agree, however, that we need to talk.”

  “Yes, but I told you I would let you know when I was ready. You said you would telephone me.”

  There was something in his expression that made me wary, and I soon found out that my instinct had been correct. The conversation had not gone well thus far, and so he decided to change tactics. “I’ve found out something rather interesting that may have a connection to James Harker’s murder.”

  He had my attention immediately, and I hated him for it. “What is it?” I asked, with barely a hint of curiosity in my tone.

  His mouth tipped up at the corner, and I knew I had been had. “Come now, darling. You aren’t going to feign disinterest? Not with me.”

  “Well, what did you learn?” I demanded, irritated that he had seen through my ruse of indifference.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said, rising from his seat. “At dinner.”

  “Milo…”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight?” One dark brow was raised in what felt distinctly like a challenge.

  I wavered. I was sorely tempted to tell Milo and his information to go to the devil. Then again, I was terribly curious. There was no telling what he might have learned or how important it might be to the investigation.

  “Very well. If you insist,” I agreed ungraciously.

  He smiled, and my irritation deepened at the flutt
er it caused in my stomach. “Your enthusiasm flatters me,” he said dryly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  And he left without further ado.

  18

  I WAS FEELING restless, but I took a cup of tea in the parlor and tried to settle my nerves.

  It was very like Milo to try to catch me off guard, and I was determined that it would not happen this time. Whatever he had to say at dinner, I was not going to allow myself to be wooed by pretty speeches … or even by excellent clues.

  I was determined to remain unimpressed by whatever it was that he was going to tell me. After all, what could he possibly have learned? I tried to think of whom he might have encountered who would know something that might relate to Mr. Harker’s murder.

  The thought came to me suddenly. Frederick Garmond. Milo had recently purchased his horse, so it would be easy enough to contact him and lead the conversation along to the shocking murder of James Harker at Lord Dunmore’s ball. If Mr. Garmond was distantly related to Vivian Garmond’s deceased husband, perhaps Milo had learned something about her past.

  Well, if he was going to tell me something about Mrs. Garmond, perhaps I could beat him to the punch. Perhaps I should try to speak to Mrs. Garmond on my own. I was vaguely aware that this newfound competitive streak might not be an exceptionally flattering trait, but I didn’t much care at the moment. I was determined to trump him if I could.

  But how to speak with Mrs. Garmond? I wished there was some way I could contact her without calling attention to the fact that I suspected she might be involved with murder. Then again, I could really think of no good reason why she might have murdered James Harker. Perhaps the direct approach would be best.

  “Winnelda,” I said. “Will you ring the operator and see if you can telephone Mrs. Vivian Garmond? I’d like to speak to her.”

  “Oh, she won’t be at home, madam,” Winnelda said. “She’s gone hat shopping this afternoon.”

  I stared at her. “How on earth do you know that?”

  “A friend of mine is the cousin of a girl who is rooming with a girl who works for Mrs. Garmond. We’re all maids, you see, so it’s the sort of thing that interests us. I saw my friend at the market today, and she mentioned in a roundabout way that Mrs. Garmond always has the loveliest hats, and she was going shopping for a new one this afternoon.”

  “Good heavens,” I breathed. “Winnelda, do you mean to tell me that information on Mrs. Garmond’s whereabouts has traveled the distance of four maids in the space of one morning?”

  “Oh, word gets around, madam,” she said impressively.

  It was certainly something worth noting. I could only imagine the sort of things that had “gotten around” about Milo and me.

  She seemed to interpret my thoughts, for she added quickly, “Not that I’m much of one to gossip, Mrs. Ames. Mostly I just listen to what the others have to say.”

  I was suddenly struck with how useful a source of information Winnelda’s connections might prove to be.

  “What else have you heard about Mrs. Garmond?”

  “Well,” Winnelda said, “I don’t like to spread tales about, but they do say that she is not receiving company from a certain gentleman as often as she has been in the past.”

  “Lord Dunmore, you mean?”

  Winnelda nodded. Apparently, my knowledge of the situation was enough to open her informational floodgates. “Lilly—that’s my friend—says that Jenny, her roommate, says that Gladys—that’s Mrs. Garmond’s maid—is concerned about Mrs. Garmond as of late. Gladys says she seems more than usually sad, and she’s been cutting back on the household expenses, though Gladys said that she’s been trying not to make it obvious.”

  “And yet she has the money to go hat shopping,” I observed.

  “Oh, well, as to that, a new hat does wonders for cheering a woman up,” she told me sagely.

  “You’re quite right, Winnelda,” I said contemplatively. “In fact, I think I may be in need of a new hat myself.”

  * * *

  I HAD NEVER visited Madame LeFleur’s hat shop before. In fact, I suspected my milliner would be affronted in the extreme to know I had even set foot in a competing establishment. Nevertheless, Madame LeFleur’s was familiar to me, and I could tell at once that it catered to a selective clientele. The interior was elegantly decorated with thick carpet, rose-colored silk-papered walls, and rows of beveled mirrors that reflected the light of the glittering crystal chandeliers.

  At a glance, it seemed that the merchandise, displayed on assorted stands, shelves, and haughty mannequin heads, was also very high quality. The materials were expensive, the embellishments artfully arranged, and the styles the height of fashion. I was impressed.

  There were only a few women in the shop at present, and none of them took notice of me as I entered. Winnelda’s sources had been correct, for I saw that Mrs. Garmond was with one of the salesgirls along the wall, sitting on a stool of ivory satin. I tried to appear as though I didn’t notice her as one of the other women came my way.

  “How may I help you, madam?” she asked.

  “I’m just looking for a nice new hat.”

  “Certainly. Are you looking to have something designed for you, or would you like to purchase something premade?”

  I glanced around at the rather extensive inventory. “I’m certain I can find something ready-made. You seem to have a very nice selection.”

  “Thank you, madam. I’m sure we’ll have something that will suit you very well,” she said. “Anything in particular?”

  “Something modern, I think,” I said. I had no real need for a hat, but Winnelda was right about the therapeutic effects of buying one. “I have nothing particular in mind, though I have a lovely red wool suit for autumn that could benefit from a new hat.”

  She stepped back and studied my face for a long moment, her head tilted to the side. “You have very lovely features,” she pronounced at last. “You’ll need something set back from the face, to frame it. I think I have just the thing. Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be back directly.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked away and began looking over the hats that rested on a shelf on the other side of the room. Her absence gave me the opportunity to try to work my way over to Mrs. Garmond.

  I walked slowly along, looking at some of the creations on display. The designs were very modern, and, despite my ulterior motives for coming, I found myself looking forward to seeing what the salesgirl would bring me.

  I stopped not far from Mrs. Garmond, picking up a hat in a startling shade of canary yellow. I suspected it would look ghastly with my skin tone, but I picked it up and put it on, walking toward the mirror next to the one where Mrs. Garmond sat.

  She glanced my way as I approached.

  “Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “Hello, Mrs. Garmond.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Ames.” Though I wouldn’t have said, exactly, that she was happy to see me, it didn’t seem as though she was uncomfortable with my sudden arrival.

  “That’s a lovely hat,” I said, indicating the one she was wearing, which was of deep garnet felt with braid detailing along the brim. She turned back to the mirror and studied it. “I do like it,” she said.

  It was an elegant hat, and I suspected it was likely to be expensive. If she was no longer relying on Lord Dunmore for financial support, she must have been able to keep herself in style in some other way.

  The saleslady came back to me and held up a black felt hat with a narrow brim and netting and feathers that sat at a jaunty angle. I was not at all certain it would suit me, but I removed the yellow hat and took it from her. I set it on my head and surveyed myself in the mirror. I had to admit, it was a flattering style.

  “Stunning,” she said, with what sounded like finality. “It’s perfect for you.”

  It seemed as though I was going to have very little say in the matter.

  I turned my head to study it from another angle. It was rather a lovely little hat, and I
thought it would complement my suit very well. Just because I had come to glean information did not mean I couldn’t take advantage of the locale. “I’ll take it,” I said.

  “Excellent. I’ll wrap it for you. Is there anything else?”

  “I think I’ll look around a bit, if I may.”

  “Certainly. You’ve only to call if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  She took my hat away, and I glanced around at the others on display. The more I looked, the more I began to like.

  I picked up a navy blue close-fitting hat with a netted veil.

  “How have you been faring since the ball?” I asked Mrs. Garmond, as I put on the hat. She had made no attempt at conversation since I had greeted her, and I knew drawing her out would likely be difficult.

  She turned with what could only be described as a guarded expression. “I’ve been fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I was rather shaken up by Mr. Harker’s death,” I said casually, arranging the netting on my hat, my eyes on the mirror. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, as though she had forgotten about it. “That was dreadful. So shocking.”

  I wondered what else had occurred at the ball to make murder of secondary interest.

  “Who do you think might have done it?” I asked bluntly.

  There was the faintest pause before her cool eyes met mine. “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  It seemed she was not going to be a font of theories.

  “I was actually upstairs when it happened,” I went on. “I had twisted my ankle, you see, and was resting in one of the bedrooms.”

  She turned and looked at me then, her gaze suddenly shrewd. It occurred to me to wonder for the first time if she might have been annoyed by the attention Lord Dunmore had paid me at the ball. I hadn’t noticed her anywhere there, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed me.

  “I hope your ankle is feeling better,” she said, though it seemed a response made more from politeness than sincerity. I was not making any headway in this conversation. It seemed that the more we spoke, the more aloof she became.

  “Oh, it’s much better, thank you. It was a lovely ball before that.” I picked up another hat, one made of forest-green felt with leaf detailing.