Death Wears a Mask

by Ashley Weaver

  He was watching me as these ideas flashed through my head, and I couldn’t help but feel as though he was reading my thoughts.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “Coffee, perhaps?”

  I was prepared to decline, but, in truth, a cup of coffee sounded wonderful. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  I think he had thought I would turn him down, for, though it may have been wishful thinking, he almost looked pleased. He motioned to the waiter and placed the order before turning back to me. He appeared perfectly at ease, but there was something watchful about him.

  “I learned a few interesting things this evening,” I said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “I … I went to the Sparrow.”

  “Did you?”

  “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “Do you expect me to be? It’s perfectly obvious you revel in doing things I warn you against.” I couldn’t tell whether or not he was jesting with me, so I ignored him.

  “I ran into Felicity Echols, and she was quite drunk. She said some rather interesting things.”

  He waited.

  “For one thing, she warned me against Lord Dunmore. She said he is dangerous.”

  Milo’s brow rose ever so slightly, and I could detect the faintest hint of derision on his features.

  “She seems genuinely afraid of him. I wonder if she believes he might have killed James Harker. She also said, ‘He didn’t mean it. I’m sure he didn’t,’ but she wouldn’t say of whom she was speaking. I thought she might mean Mr. Harker, but it doesn’t really make sense. And, if not him, does that mean she knows who the killer is?”

  “It’s all very interesting,” Milo said blandly.

  “And Lord Dunmore thinks one of the Echols sisters might have done it. He seems to believe that there was some sort of love triangle transpiring and one of them might have killed Mr. Harker out of jealousy. It seems a bit ridiculous to me, but I suppose it’s always a possibility.”

  “Indeed.”

  “It’s not much,” I admitted. I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “It doesn’t feel as though we’re getting anywhere. I can only hope that something will happen with the Dunmore Diamond.”

  “The Dunmore Diamond?” Milo repeated.

  The waiter arrived at that moment with my coffee, and I had a moment to decide how to answer. I had not yet revealed this part of the plan to Milo, and I was not at all certain he would be receptive to it. There was no going back now, however. “Yes,” I said when the waiter had gone. “Lord Dunmore has agreed to use the Dunmore Diamond as bait at the ball on Sunday. It may prove the perfect opportunity to catch the killer.”

  Milo seemed extremely unimpressed. “I think you’d be better off letting the police do the dirty work, don’t you? After all, Inspector Jones gets paid to do that sort of thing.”

  I ignored this bit of skepticism and took a sip of my coffee. “I think it’s an excellent plan.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do.” There was something vaguely like sarcasm in Milo’s tone, but I decided to overlook it.

  “We’ll make a show of the diamond,” I said, purposefully neglecting to mention that Lord Dunmore intended for me to wear it. “Then I will relate to each of the suspects that we’ve set it down somewhere. If the thief was desperate enough to commit murder, there is every chance he or she will be willing to risk being caught for a piece of such magnitude.”

  Milo seemed to consider this. “It might work,” he said, “in theory. But I don’t see how you’ll convince the killer to believe that Lord Dunmore would be so careless with the diamond.”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so, darling.”

  “I just wish I could be certain that the thief is the killer,” I said. “I keep coming back to the idea that Mr. Harker surprised the thief in some way and was killed to ensure his silence, but his confronting the thief seems to go against what we’ve learned of his personality.”

  “I would not have taken him for a confident man,” Milo said.

  “No.” I frowned, as his words sank in. “You’re right. Then what was he doing with the paste jewels from the bracelet … and the gun? And furthermore, where is the rest of the bracelet?”

  “All very good questions.”

  “There is, of course, the possibility that Lord Dunmore is either the thief or the killer and it was a mistake to take him into my confidence. I thought it a risk worth taking, however, for even if he is guilty, he will be less on his guard thinking he is taking part in the trap.”

  “You don’t mean you allow that your Lord Dunmore might possibly not be the gallant gentleman that he seems?”

  “For pity’s sake, Milo.” I sighed. “You’re not going to develop a jealous streak now?”

  “Certainly not.” His eyes met mine. “After all, I may not have the right to that particular honor for much longer. Although, I must admit, I thought I’d merit a better replacement than Dunmore.”

  He was trying to make me angry, and he’d succeeded.

  “Certainly,” I retorted. “After all, if I wanted flattery and lies, I could get them from you.”

  “Do you still believe that I am having an affair with Helene Renault?”

  His eyes met mine and held. I wanted so very much to tell him no, but I just wasn’t sure. I never knew what was true and what wasn’t. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you made up your mind about divorcing me?”

  “Milo … do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t want to divorce you. But I meant what I said. I won’t … I can’t go on with things as they are.”

  “I’m not going to try to stop you, if it’s what you want.”

  “Is it what you want?” I asked softly.

  “Certainly not. I’m very happy being married to you, Amory.”

  It was almost laughable, how very polite we were being to one another, but I didn’t feel like laughing. In fact, the knot in my throat made it impossible to speak.

  “Dance with me,” he said suddenly. He stood and held out his hand.

  I wavered. “Milo, I don’t think…”

  “There’s no harm in it,” he said, that familiar enchanter’s smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “It’s only a dance, darling.”

  It was more than that. We both knew it. I recognized too well that look in his eyes, the glint of intensity that appeared when he had made up his mind to accomplish something. My instincts warned me that it would be better not to give him the opportunity to put his arms around me, for I was infuriatingly susceptible to him at close distances. My head and my heart were at war, and I found my head was much too tired for the fight.

  I took his hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. He turned to me, his eyes meeting mine, before his arms went around me, pulling me against him. And, just like that, it seemed the room and the other couples around us faded away until it was only us and the music.

  As we moved across the floor, lost in the gentle sway of the music, I was very aware of the weight of his hand on my back, of the warm pressure of his body against me. My face close to his, I could smell the subtle, spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with the starch of his collar.

  “Do you remember that night in Paris?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  I knew just the night he meant. It had been the last night of our honeymoon and the sort of thing that fairy tales were made of. We had danced until after midnight to the slow, heady strains of the orchestra, and then we had taken a moonlight stroll along the banks of the Seine. I clung to his arm as we walked, and I had thought, in the naïveté of youthful bliss, that the glow of lights in the rippling water seemed like a reflection of my happiness.

  We had stopped on a bridge, and I leaned against the balustrade, looking up. “I’m so very happy,” I told him.

  He had looked at me intently, hi
s eyes moving over my face as though he had never quite seen me before. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and there was something in his voice that was different from his normal murmured endearments. “I adore you, Amory.”

  He had leaned to kiss me then, and the love that surged through me had been almost dizzying. Looking back, I didn’t know if I had ever been happier than I was in that moment.

  Even now, our marriage crumbling beneath us, I felt the ghostly flutter of that euphoric moment in my stomach. Milo, as always, had known just what to say, what I would feel at the mention of that night. I think that was what I both loved and hated most about him, how easily he could make me forget all the things I needed to remember and remember what I wanted to forget.

  “You’re just as lovely tonight as you were then,” he said. “Lovelier.” If possible, he pulled me more tightly against him. “It’s impossible for me to hold you like this without remembering.”

  My heart had begun to beat madly, and I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. I didn’t trust myself to answer. I knew I was dangerously close to losing myself in his hypnotic seduction.

  “Come upstairs,” he said in a low voice in my ear. “Spend the night with me, Amory.”

  I closed my eyes. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to relent, to forget everything except how much I loved him. But some part of me knew that if I did, nothing would change.

  And I couldn’t do it. I could not let things go on as they had always done.

  I stepped back suddenly, cool air rushing in to take the place of his warmth against me. “I can’t, Milo,” I said, and my voice sounded strained.

  “Why not?” He still held my hand in his, his thumb caressing my palm.

  “Do you want the truth?”

  “Of course.”

  I looked down at my hand in his, and then I gently pulled it away. “For things to work between us, I need you to behave as my husband, to show that you care, not only when it’s convenient or you’re in danger of losing me. I love you desperately, Milo,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “But I’m not sure I can trust you. And sometimes love just isn’t enough.”

  26

  I AWOKE WITH a heavy feeling in my chest, the sort of thing that befitted the brokenhearted heroines of the radio dramas my life was rapidly beginning to resemble, but there was nothing to be done about that at the moment. I had made myself very clear to Milo. It was up to him to make up his mind.

  After a breakfast of toast and coffee, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Lord Dunmore’s ball was tomorrow, and I needed to start putting things in order. My romantic difficulties could wait until afterward.

  I had just finished dressing in a light wool suit of pale blue over an ivory crêpe de chine blouse with a flounced collar when I heard the telephone ring. I refused to hope that it was Milo calling. Since I was not expecting it, I was not disappointed when Winnelda came to say that Inspector Jones was on the line. I was rather glad to hear it, in fact. Now that I had come up with a plan for catching the killer, I had only to convince the inspector that it was a worthwhile endeavor.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ames,” he said, as I picked up the telephone. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all, Inspector. I was hoping to hear from you, in fact. I’ve something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “How fortunate. I was wondering if you would like to have tea with me this afternoon. Do you know Lyon’s Corner House in Piccadilly?”

  “Certainly,” I said readily, very glad he hadn’t suggested tea at the Ritz.

  “Very good. I’ll see you at four.” He rang off without further ado. He certainly hadn’t been talkative, but that was not particularly unusual.

  I wondered why he had decided not to come by the flat this time, but I certainly was not going to quibble over the meeting place.

  I set the telephone back on the receiver and tried to think of how best to spend my morning. I wasn’t entirely sure that Inspector Jones would be receptive to my plan, but I intended to convince him.

  * * *

  THE SECOND TELEPHONE call of the day came shortly after lunch. Once again, it was not Milo.

  “Mrs. Ames, you’ll never believe it,” said Mrs. Barrington without preamble as soon as I had picked up the telephone. “I’ve found my Eiffel Tower pin! It was in the trinket box on the mantelpiece!”

  This was a very unexpected development. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Barrington,” I said, when I had recovered from my surprise. “It just appeared there?”

  “Yes. I’ve been through the house again and again, and the servants have searched behind me. It wasn’t there when last I looked. I’m certain of it.”

  “When did you discover it?”

  “Just now. I was looking for matches and happened to open the box, and there it was, as blatant as you please. I’m not imagining things, Mrs. Ames. It wasn’t here before.”

  I believed her. Mrs. Barrington was not a silly woman. I was certain she had made a thorough and comprehensive search. That could mean only one thing. Someone must have placed it back in the box.

  “When did you last make a search?” I asked, hoping that, if she could pinpoint the time, it would help us determine who might have had access to the box.

  “I’ve tried to remember that. I think it was the night before the dinner party. I wanted to make one final search before I came to you with my problem.”

  So she had not looked in the box since that evening at her house. That meant that anyone at the dinner party that night might have slipped it inside when no one was looking. I tried to recall seeing anyone near the fireplace, but I hadn’t been paying much attention.

  “But why should someone have put it back?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to figure out who might have done it, but it just doesn’t make any sense.”

  The door buzzer rang, and Winnelda went to answer it.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barrington,” I said. “There’s someone here. Shall I call you back?”

  “No, no, that’s all right,” she said. “I just thought you should know. If I think of anything else, I’ll ring you again.”

  I set the phone down, frowning. Why would someone have stolen something only to put it back? Surely they didn’t think the crime would have gone undetected.

  “A package has come for you, madam,” said Winnelda, coming away from the door with a brown parcel in her hand.

  I took the package and opened the attached card. It read:

  I suspected you wouldn’t come to collect it, so I’ve sent it along. I look forward to seeing you wear it.

  —A

  It couldn’t be.

  I removed a flat, midnight-blue case from the package and opened it. Winnelda and I both stared.

  Nestled on a bed of black velvet was an enormous oval diamond in a platinum setting, suspended from a chain of diamonds that glittered wildly as if they had been waiting to be exposed to light.

  The Dunmore Diamond.

  * * *

  IT HAD ALREADY been quite an eventful day by the time I left the flat to meet Inspector Jones for our tea appointment. I had put the Dunmore Diamond in the safe, though I still felt a bit uneasy leaving it unattended. I wished that Lord Dunmore hadn’t sent it to me in that casual way. The thing was priceless, and he had sent it over wrapped in brown parchment paper.

  Markham drove me to Piccadilly, and I went inside Lyon’s Corner House. It was busy this time of day, the large crowds at the white-clothed tables being served by nippies in their black dresses with starched white collars, caps, and aprons.

  The room was large, and most of the tables were full, but I spotted Inspector Jones sitting at one of the tables near the long steel food counter, reading a newspaper. I made my way over to him, weaving among the tables.

  “Hello, Inspector Jones,” I said. He had risen to his feet, but I waved him back into his chair. “I’m sorry I
’ve kept you waiting.”

  “No need to apologize, Mrs. Ames. I appreciate your taking the time to meet me.”

  Though he was a difficult man to read at times, I had come to be able to detect a certain something in his posture that indicated when he was about to reveal something. There was something he was going tell me, or, more likely, he was up to something.

  It seemed my latter supposition was the correct one, for a moment later I heard a familiar voice. “Well, isn’t this a charming reunion.”

  I turned to see Milo making his way to our table. I looked back at Inspector Jones, who met my gaze with a pleasant expression. I suddenly understood why he had chosen this neutral meeting place. No doubt he had been keeping tabs on my unraveling marriage and knew I would be unlikely to meet with him if I knew Milo would be in attendance. I felt I should be a bit angry with him for not telling me my husband would be at tea. Until I heard what he had to say, however, I would grudgingly overlook his underhanded tactics.

  I glanced at Milo, but he was not looking at me.

  “Inspector Jones. How nice to see you again,” he said, by way of greeting. It was polite of him to say so, considering Inspector Jones had suspected that Milo might be guilty of murder when last they had met.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Ames. How have you been?”

  Milo took the seat beside me, his attention still focused on the inspector. “I’m excellent, thank you. I trust the London air is agreeing with you?”

  “It’s been an adjustment from the seaside,” Inspector Jones responded. “I have been enjoying it immensely, however. We’ve adapted quite readily to life here.”

  “We? Are you married?” I asked. It had suddenly occurred to me that I knew very little about Inspector Jones. It was silly of me to think so, of course, but it seemed strange somehow that he should have a life outside of his role as a policeman.

  “I am. Mrs. Jones is delighted with London.”