Death Wears a Mask

by Ashley Weaver

  When my eyes fell on Milo, I saw that he was looking at me intently, and I had to fight down the flutter in my stomach.

  “No hotel can compare to one’s home. I long to return to the comforts of a soft bed and a warm wife … or perhaps the other way around. How long is my banishment going to last?”

  When he looked at me that way, it was so very difficult to forget how much I loved him.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, summoning up my resolve. “I need time to think about everything, but, truthfully, I don’t like to think about it. I’m sure you can understand that it’s rather unpleasant for me.”

  “Will you let me tell you what happened?”

  I looked into his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Will you be honest with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d rather the ugly truth than your pretty lies, Milo.”

  “I’ll tell you the truth.” He set his drink on the table and turned to face me. “It was one kiss. Nothing before, nothing after.”

  “Why did you kiss her?” I asked softly.

  “I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. I didn’t know she was going to do it.”

  “And poor, helpless thing that you are, you couldn’t stop her,” I said sardonically.

  “Will you let me finish?”

  I waved a hand for him to continue. I could already tell that I was going to find his story ridiculous, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “They must have snapped the photograph at exactly the right time, for as soon as she did it, I disentangled myself from her. I dropped her off at her hotel immediately, and that was the last I’ve seen of her. There was never anything more to it than that. Everything before that was just rumor, and she apparently began to believe it.”

  “What were you doing with her to begin with? You told me you were going to Bedfordshire.”

  “I did go to Bedfordshire. I met her at the train station, and she asked me to have a drink with her. I didn’t see any harm in it.”

  I sighed. “You don’t expect me to believe that you didn’t know her intentions when she’s displayed such obvious interest in your company.”

  “I wasn’t interested in her. I thought that was the material thing.”

  “No, Milo,” I said. “The material thing is that you see nothing wrong with your behavior. Even if your highly questionable account of events happens to be true, even if that was the only time you’ve ever kissed her, it doesn’t matter. If this is all some grand misunderstanding, as you claim, it still doesn’t account for the fact that you care nothing about how things look.”

  “Why should I?” he replied. “Why should I care what people think?”

  “Because I do,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m tired of being made to look the fool. I know what people say: ‘Poor Mrs. Ames suffers in silence as her husband parades his mistresses through the society columns.’ Well, I’m not going to suffer in silence, Milo. Not anymore.”

  “I’ve told you. There was nothing in it.”

  “There’s no use in going round and round about it,” I said tiredly. “If I can’t make you understand why I dislike your spending time dining and kissing and heaven knows what else with other women, then there’s nothing else to be said.”

  I set my coffee on the table and stood, and he stood with me.

  “Amory, this is quite ridiculous.”

  “I went to see Mr. Ludlow this morning,” I said suddenly. I hadn’t expected to share the fact that my unpleasant errand earlier in the day had been a visit to our solicitor, but now it seemed the moment to make it known. “I think you should know that I consulted him on the various … options that are open to me.”

  This news, I think, caught him off guard, for I saw the barest hint of surprise cross his features before it was smoothed away. “You don’t mean to tell me that you’re really serious about all of this?”

  “Of course I’m serious,” I replied, meeting his gaze levelly. “I’ve never been more in earnest in my life.”

  “You’re thinking of divorcing me?” He asked the question in an expressionless voice, but his eyes on my face held an unusual intensity.

  I shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps there’s nothing else to be done. Perhaps we don’t belong together…”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “There’s no need for us to keep up the pretense of being happy if we’re not. We wouldn’t be the first couple of our acquaintance who … who couldn’t make a go of it.”

  “I believe we said ‘for as long as we both shall live.’”

  If the moment had not been what it was, I might have laughed at the irony of his quoting our wedding vows.

  “We said a lot of things, Milo. You don’t get to pick and choose which apply.”

  “You know perfectly well you don’t want a divorce. For one thing, it will cause…”

  “What?” I challenged. “Scandal? Embarrassment? Well, better to put up with it for a few months than for the rest of my life.”

  We looked at one another, and I could no longer read anything in his bright blue eyes.

  “You’ve made up your mind, then?” His voice had gone cool, and I recognized that there would be no impassioned entreaties. I hadn’t wanted any, but somehow I found myself disheartened that he should capitulate so easily.

  “No,” I replied, straining to keep my voice even. “I haven’t said that. I only know I can’t go on with the way things have been.”

  He didn’t reply, and I picked up my coat. “We’ll talk again later, Milo. Good night.”

  I went down to the lobby alone and waited for Markham to return and take me home.

  21

  I JUDGED THE evening to have been a catastrophic failure as far as my marriage was concerned, and I was utterly exhausted by the time I reached home. The day had been much too eventful, and my head was fairly swimming.

  I hadn’t meant for things to unravel so rapidly with Milo, but I supposed it was time for things to come to a head. He knew now where I stood, and it was up to him to determine what he meant to do about it. I tried to fight back the nagging worry that he might follow the path of least resistance and allow me to divorce him.

  Despite my unease and agitation over all that had occurred, I had scarcely slid beneath the sheets before I was sleeping soundly.

  I slept much later than usual, and before I could rise, Winnelda came bustling into the room with a tray of toast and coffee. “I thought perhaps you’d enjoy breakfast in bed this morning, madam,” she said cheerily.

  “That’s very kind of you, Winnelda.”

  As a matter of fact, I was still feeling rather drained from the events of last evening, and the prospect of lounging abed for another hour was distinctly appealing.

  She set the tray down, arranging things on it for a few moments before stepping back and allowing me to pick up my coffee cup.

  “Thank you.”

  She stood waiting, and I looked up at her expectantly. I had come to recognize that expression of barely concealed eagerness. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

  “You’re ever so perceptive, madam,” she said with a smile. “You always seem to know just what I’m thinking. As a matter of fact, there is something I wanted to tell you. I’ve heard something rather strange from Lilly this morning, and I thought you might want to know about it.”

  “Have you?” I replied with interest. “What was it?”

  “It’s rather scandalous,” she warned.

  “I’m certain my nerves will bear up,” I reassured her, stirring sugar and milk into my coffee.

  “Well, Mrs. Garmond came home from her hat shopping yesterday, and Gladys said she was acting rather strange.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Gladys says she’s normally so very calm, but it seemed as though something had upset her.”

  I brought my coffee cup to my lips, contemplating this bit of news. She had encountered me at the hat shop. I wondered if I ha
d somehow brought about this unexpected reaction.

  “She had ordered dinner, but then she went out again without eating”—Winnelda paused for dramatic effect before adding, with significance—“and did not return home until this morning.”

  My brows rose. “I see.”

  There were, certainly, plausible explanations for her overnight absence, but I also thought it quite possible that she had gone to see Lord Dunmore, and that he had induced her to stay the night with him. If that was the case, however, what was it that had upset her, and why had she sought him out when they were rumored not to be on the best of terms?

  “Weren’t the servants worried when she didn’t arrive home?” I asked.

  Winnelda lifted her eyebrows. “I’m afraid it’s not the first time it’s happened, madam. In fact, Gladys says that it used to be a fairly regular turn of events, up until recently.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Winnelda,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee as I turned this bit of information around in my mind. “That is very interesting indeed.”

  * * *

  I FOUND I could not remain in bed after breakfast, for I felt a nervous energy and the desire to do something useful.

  I decided that the next best course of action would be for me to speak again to Mrs. Barrington. Given what I had learned the last few days, I had several questions for her. I also needed to let her know that Lord Dunmore had agreed to consider dangling the Dunmore Diamond before the thief.

  I rang her up, and she said that she would come to see me. In typical fashion, she wasted no time. She had arrived at the flat in less than an hour. I had barely had time to bathe and dress before Winnelda was showing her into the sitting room.

  She settled herself in a chair, waving away my offer of coffee or tea. “Have you spoken with Lord Dunmore?”

  “Yes, he says he will consider it.”

  “That’s better than a flat no, I suppose,” she mused. “Was there some other reason you wished to see me, Mrs. Ames?”

  I decided it would be best to come directly to the point. She was not the type of woman who needed—or wanted—to be treated with delicacy. “Mrs. Barrington, someone mentioned last night that at a dinner party a few weeks ago, Mr. Harker had made a comment about a piece of your jewelry, and how it reminded him of a piece that someone would give to his mistress.”

  Mrs. Barrington’s eyes widened. “Who told you that?”

  “Mrs. Douglas-Hughes mentioned it,” I said, seeing no point in concealing it. “I was trying to get information that might prove useful, and she recalled the incident.”

  Mrs. Barrington frowned. “James didn’t mean anything by that. He was simply jesting with me. He was always saying strange things. It was just a way he had. He didn’t know when he was being inappropriate.”

  “Did Mr. Harker have a mistress?” I asked.

  “No,” she said quickly. “James was a timid boy. He enjoyed spending time with the Echols girls because they’re so lively, but it was never anything serious. If you think he would have wanted to give my jewels to one of them, it isn’t so. James lacked cleverness, at times, but he wasn’t stupid. The Echols girls could never have worn my pieces in public; I would have noticed. In any event, as I’ve said before, he knew the bracelet at the ball was paste. He would have had no reason to try to steal it.”

  “Which piece was it he referred to at dinner, do you recall?”

  It seemed as though she wavered indecisively before saying, “It was the diamond bracelet, the second piece to go missing, but I can assure you it had nothing to do with the murder.”

  I had the sudden sensation that she was denying it too strenuously. I wondered if pressing her was the best course of action under the circumstances, but I had the distinct feeling that there was something she was holding back.

  “Mrs. Barrington, is there anything you know? Anything you’re not saying?”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Ames!” she cried, a bit too spiritedly. “If I knew anything that could help to catch James’s killer, I would certainly reveal it to you.”

  “Very good. We shall just have to hope that something else comes to light.” For the time being, there was nothing more to be said.

  * * *

  MRS. BARRINGTON LEFT, AND Winnelda brought me coffee in the sitting room. I sipped it contemplatively. It seemed to me that Mrs. Barrington’s story was not quite holding together. There had been something secretive in her manner today, as though there was something she wanted to keep from me.

  I wondered if I was being unjustly suspicious. It was possible I was being influenced by what Milo had told me about the Barringtons’ financial difficulties. Just because things were a bit tight for them, however, didn’t mean that they would have had anything to do with the death of their nephew. Indeed, it seemed almost out of the question. Almost.

  Without my meaning to think of him, my thoughts drifted to Milo. I wondered what he was doing at this moment. I wouldn’t have been half surprised to find out he had decided to dash off to Nice or some such place without informing me. He tended to bolt at the most inopportune times.

  Nevertheless, I could not help but hope that he had taken some of what I told him last night to heart. It had been difficult for me to speak so directly to him. I was accustomed to sidestepping our marital difficulties at every turn. However, I had come to the point where I could no longer remain silent on the subject. Five years had been too long. I was perfectly aware that my ultimatum might have been the nail in the coffin for our marriage. It was not something I took lightly. In addition to the heartbreak it would cause me, I was perfectly aware of the scandal that would ensue, of the social repercussions that would result if my marriage came to an end. But if that was the way it had to be, so be it. I had meant what I had said, and I would live with the consequences.

  I stood up. I was feeling too restless to simply sit here. I was tired of thinking about things. I wanted to do something. But what?

  My thoughts turned again to the apparent motive for murder. The missing jewelry seemed to be at the center of all of this, but where had it gone? Not only the paste bracelet from the ball but also Mrs. Barrington’s other pieces. They had to be somewhere. Furthermore, where had the genuine sapphire come from? It seemed to have materialized out of thin air to vex me.

  A thought came to me suddenly. If the thief had stolen Mrs. Barrington’s jewelry out of desperation, it was just as possible that he or she would have tried to sell them already. I wonder if the police had investigated that possibility. I also wondered how one went about selling such things.

  Winnelda seemed to have knowledge about a wide range of things from her maid friends. I wondered if she could prove useful in this case.

  “Winnelda,” I asked casually as she came back into the room, “if one was interested in selling stolen jewelry, how do you suppose one would go about it?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, madam!” she exclaimed, properly scandalized by my question. “If you’re missing jewelry, I can only tell you that I know nothing about it, and that I would never in a million years…”

  “No, no,” I assured her quickly. “I’m not missing anything. I am just wondering where such a transaction might take place.”

  She looked close to tears, and I felt bad for having frightened her.

  “I only meant that, since you know so many people, you might have heard tales of where people would go to do such a thing.”

  “I don’t keep company with those types of maids, madam,” she said with great dignity.

  “Certainly not, Winnelda,” I soothed. “But it would be most useful to me if you could think of anyplace where one might dispose of jewelry secondhand.”

  “Well,” she said, seemingly pacified by my appeal to her knowledge. “Lilly had a ring from her aunt that she was forced to sell when she lost her place once. She said she went to a shop on Whitechapel High Street. There are ever so many shops that way where one might sell things, jewelry and the like
. I remember once, too, that Gladys told me she thought that Mrs. Garmond might have sold some of her jewelry from Lord Dunmore.”

  She had piqued my interest now. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, Gladys heard her mention Whitechapel, and it was not the type of place that Mrs. Garmond would normally frequent, Mrs. Garmond being a fine lady. Gladys got to thinking about what Lilly had said about selling things and how Mrs. Garmond has been cutting back on expenses and thought she must have gone to sell some jewelry.”

  “Whitechapel High Street, you say,” I mused. An idea was beginning to take shape in my mind.

  “It’s not a very nice place, though, madam. In fact, I think it’s dangerous. One’s always hearing about women being killed in Whitechapel, cut to ribbons and other sordid things.”

  I thought perhaps Winnelda was a bit out of date in her reading on that score.

  “Besides,” she added, as something of an anticlimax, “they didn’t give Lilly half of what her ring was worth.”

  “I don’t think we need worry much about that, Winnelda.”

  She looked quite unconvinced. “Begging your pardon, madam, you’re not thinking of selling anything?”

  “Oh, no, certainly not.” I thought it best to refute the idea quickly, before Lilly, Gladys, and company received news that I had begun to rid myself of all the jewelry Milo had given me. “In fact, I’m looking to buy something.”

  “Not from one of those places, surely? You’re much too fine a lady to go to someplace like that,” Winnelda protested. “With your lovely clothes and your elegant manner, they’re bound to recognize you as quality and try to get too much money out of you.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I’d much rather shop in Mayfair.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s ever so much nicer.” Satisfied, for the moment, that she had done her part to discourage my strange whims, she went off to put the coffee things away.

  I sat for a moment, the possibilities running through my head. If I could find Mrs. Barrington’s jewels, it was very likely I would be able to determine who had stolen them.

  I found it very interesting that Mrs. Garmond was known to have visited Whitechapel. Could it be that she had been selling the jewelry she had stolen from Mrs. Barrington?