The Mystery of Ruby's Sugar (Ruby Dove Mysteries Book 1)

by Rose Donovan

  “What do you mean – turn them out of Pauncefort?” asked Ruby.

  “Yes, that’s it. I cannot remember where I heard that from – perhaps Charlotte? I know that he’s made a similar threat against Charlotte and Edgar. Apparently once the old man pops off everything goes to Granville – with a tiny allowance for the rest of the family. Edgar and Charlotte might get by… though Charlotte would have to marry to keep up her standards. But the aunt and uncle would be in the proverbial soup.”

  A little breathlessly, Fina dared to continue. “What about Ian? I know you’re close – have you spoken about what happened?”

  Ruby added, “We’re just trying to figure this out since the police cannot be here.”

  “Quite, quite – I can see wanting to play sleuth. I’d be careful, though. You don’t want to end up like those detective novels,” said Julia with her mouth curved upwards in one corner – in the same way one lifted one eyebrow, thought Fina.

  “No, no, of course,” said Fina, spluttering. “There are two of us, though, so we should be safe. Besides, I cannot get that image of the body out of my mind. We have to do something.”

  Julia stiffened at the word ‘body’.

  Ruby returned to their enquiry. “So, I find Ian quite charming…”

  “I saw that last night at dinner,” said Julia, grinning maliciously.

  She doesn’t mince her words, thought Fina, slightly shocked. But perhaps that was part of what made her so likeable.

  Ruby continued on, her unflappable self. “What was his connection to Granville? Is he somehow involved in the sugar business? He told me about his Caribbean connections last night at dinner.”

  “Oh… I see the cat is out of the bag. I suppose it might have been the reason they first crossed paths. But no, he came here to talk to Granville about investing in a few of his upcoming productions. They’re going to be grand dramas – and I hope to be the leading lady in them. I’d love for you to design the costumes, Ruby,” she said, shamelessly trying to divert the conversation.

  Fina thought she’d push her luck before Julia was successful in derailing their enquiry. She was still outwardly nonchalant, but Fina noticed that she was definitely sitting up straighter now, no longer in her usual languid ‘I-don’t-have-a-care-in-the-world-darling’ pose.

  “It’s odd that I didn’t see Ian last night. Was he with you, perhaps, Julia? Did you have any late-night cocoa?” Fina thought she would see if Julia were ready to lie. She felt a warm glow at her ability to practise deception without turning crimson every time.

  Julia’s eyes narrowed. She stubbed out her cigarette in the already-brimming ashtray. She extracted an exquisitely engraved silver cigarette case from her blazer, which was slung over the nearest chair. Then she offered it up as if she were pointing out an important passage in a book. Ruby and Fina declined with small shakes of their heads. Julia’s graceful ignition procedure with that mother-of-pearl lighter impressed Fina.

  Blowing a halo of smoke away from both women, Julia deigned to answer the question. “So many questions… but fair enough. I left for bed perhaps thirty minutes or so after you two left. I was peckish, so I did go down to make myself some cocoa. I was roundly scolded by the cook for not ringing for it. That’s it. I suppose you could say that I was irritated by Granville’s advances… but that’s hardly a reason for killing him.”

  “Advances?” asked Fina. “Do you mean advances on a contract?”

  Julia giggled. “No, no. I mean he was simply potty about me. Didn’t you notice how he’d made sheep’s eyes at me during dinner?”

  Ruby rescued Fina as she felt her face turn scarlet. Damn, there I go again, thought Fina.

  “I did notice some admiring glances, now that you mention it. Is that why he wants to fund Ian’s productions?” asked Ruby.

  “I suppose so. Ian’s task this weekend was to convince him that it was a good investment, poor baby. Especially since Granville was to become head of the family business.”

  So she knew about that. Fina wondered if this was common knowledge among the other guests.

  Tap-tap. Ian’s head appeared around the door frame.

  “Speak of the devil, sweetie!” said Julia, springing up. Hands in his Savile Row grey suit pockets, Ian approached, planting air kisses around Julia. “Talking about me again? I know I’m on the tips of everyone’s tongues,” he said, smiling roguishly at Ruby. Ruby pretended not to notice, but did smooth back her hair.

  He pointed to his watch and said, “Time for luncheon, ladies. I’m famished, so let’s get a move on downstairs.”

  18

  Lunch was a simple affair, no doubt due to the grim circumstances, thought Fina. Despite a ravenous appetite, Fina did her best to control her obvious inhalation of the soup. She looked around in panic for a roll. Cyril, the apparent keeper of the rolls, primly distributed one to her with the tongs – as if he were under orders to ration wheat supplies.

  Mildly satiated, Fina eased back into her chair. She considered the atmosphere of the dining room. One of the first compliments Ruby had paid her when they first met was to note Fina’s uncanny ability to pin down the atmosphere of a room. She supposed one of her more bohemian friends might call it ‘energy’. Energy was certainly the right word for this gathering at the moment. No, not energy – electricity. If she reached out to touch the Earl, seated next to her, she was quite sure that the hairs on their arms would stand at attention. The situation was tense, to be sure – one look at the dour countenance of the usually jovial Earl confirmed that – as if they had just survived a stormy voyage. They certainly all looked seasick.

  And yet they all talked excitedly to one another. Nibbling on a delicious salmon sandwich, Fina dared to look over at Leslie. His head was bent, as he chased a small potato in a circle on his plate. Though he sat at the end of the long table, she could see that his eyes were red. Swollen as a frog in the autumn.

  From the other end of the table, the Countess bellowed, “My dear guests…”

  Startled, Fina dropped her sandwich on her plate, just missing Cyril’s lap. Fina could see the Countess looked surprised by the volume of her own voice.

  “I know we’re all in a state of bereavement, but I thought it important that we continue on with our routines. That is why I asked cook to prepare a light luncheon,” the Countess said, sweeping her hand around the table in a rather theatrical manner.

  Heads turned as Edgar stumbled into the room. Ruby caught Fina’s eye and gave her a look of exasperation. Oh dear, thought Fina. Edgar is dead drunk.

  “Yes, dearest Auntie,” said Edgar, raising his glass, “Here’s to English hospitality and stiff facial muscles… or some such rot.” He toasted the table, but most particularly, Fina noticed, in the direction of Leslie. Leslie’s eyes remained glued to his potato companion on his plate. Edgar proceeded to gulp the remainder of his beverage of choice. Perhaps brandy. Perhaps whisky. In any event, thought Fina, it was definitely high alcohol content.

  Edgar had not finished. “And where were all of you, I ask, when my dearest brother was murdered? Let’s hear your protestations of innocence!” he slurred. Though his sentences lacked the usual pauses customary between words, Fina noticed he had lost his stuttering and stammering habit. His clothes were in an appalling state, as if he had taken a nap in them.

  Charlotte rose from her seat. With a stealthy crouching movement, she crept toward Edgar, like a tiger closing in on a drunken goat. The Earl motioned to Charlotte to sit down. “Thank you, my dear,” he said in a near whisper.

  More loudly now, the Earl said, “Yes, Nephew, I think you’re right. Let’s hear it from everyone. The police are not here, but we may as well get it all straight for them when they do arrive, so that they don’t leap to any silly conclusions. So we’d better find out this, this…” he trailed off, at an apparent loss for words. Regaining his footing, he said, curtly, “Though I think you’d better sit down, dear boy.”

  Grimston materialized from
the ether and gently piloted Edgar to the nearest chair. His lids were lowered to a half-mast position, only occasionally jerking open at random intervals.

  One problem solved, the Earl fixed his gaze on each guest in a slow, panoptic-like motion around the long oval table. Either by design or chance, thought Fina, the last person subjected to the sharp eye of Lord Snittlegarth was Cyril Lighton.

  “Well, dash it. I suppose I had better begin, then,” said the professor. Fina noticed he had a fine sheen of sweat forming on his brow and around the edges of his combed moustache. Licking his lips, he began. “I don’t know exactly what we’re supposed to report, but I went up to bed around say, 11pm. Everyone else had retired – at least that I could see – with the exception of Granville and Edgar. I took my leave of them in the study. I prepared for the night and then read – in bed – for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Promptly fell asleep. Reading Hobbes does that to me. Slept soundly but I did get up once in the middle of the night. Call of nature and all that…” He tapped his fingers on the table. Fina thought it seemed forced – as if he were willing himself to appear casual. “Then I awoke at precisely 9am, as I invariably do. I came down to breakfast shortly thereafter.”

  Fina noticed Ruby drawing in her diaphragm. “But you have left something out, Professor Lighton,” said Ruby, exhaling what seemed to be anticipation and relief. All eyes turned to Ruby and then back to Cyril as if it were the opening of a tennis match.

  “What do you mean, Miss Dove?” he blustered, voice rising. “I didn’t leave anything out,” he said, then hesitating, “And if I did, it was unintentional.”

  Eyes from around the table rolled back to Ruby. “Fina and I saw you leave the study – and you were clearly not on good terms with Granville,” she said, halting her speech, mid-sentence. Fina knew her friend well enough to realize that she herself realized her mistake. Now everyone would ask what they were doing downstairs at that time.

  Recovering quickly, Ruby blurted out just as Cyril was opening his mouth, “In case you’re wondering, Fina and I were hungry, so we thought we’d have a rummage around in the kitchen.”

  Cyril’s brow furrowed – he clearly felt deprived of the opportunity to seek revenge against Ruby. “Yes, well, Miss Dove, I don’t see how that’s important. It became a disagreement between two brothers after I left,” he said, throwing his napkin on his plate with a final flourish – signalling the interview had ended.

  Fina accepted the proverbial baton from Ruby and carried on. “I’m afraid we cannot ask Edgar at the moment,” she said, glancing over at the slumped figure at the edge of the table, now snoring gently. “So would you please tell us yourself?”

  Though it was already quiet, Fina could feel a deeper hush descend on the room. Cyril removed his glasses. Absently, he began to wipe them with the napkin he had rejected a moment ago. He persisted in this activity long after even the most perfectionist parlourmaid would have pronounced the lenses clean, Fina thought.

  “Granville was going to sponsor a named professorship at Oxford. Notions of grandeur, I suppose, and all that. Well, when Granville found out that I was going to be the beneficiary of this position, he, he said he would withdraw all funds immediately,” Cyril said, shifting in his chair and pulling at his collar. He stared at Edgar in the corner, as if by sheer force of will he could shake him out of his inebriated state.

  “And?” said Leslie, who had managed to pull his attention away from his potato. “Why on earth would he do such a thing?” he queried, in a tone that indicated he already knew the answer to his own question.

  “Well… dash it. When Granville discovered my political leanings – to the left that is – he became absolutely opposed to the idea. Granville is a fascist supporter, of course.”

  “Fascist? Fascist!” roared the Earl. “What do you mean by that, sir? How dare you defame my nephew!” He began to raise himself from the chair.

  The Countess tugged at his arm. “Roger, please, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  “On the contrary, Countess. He is a fascist. Or I should say he was a fascist,” said Gayatri quietly. Sajida looked at her sister in alarm.

  “Precisely my point,” said Cyril, looking bolstered by the gathering support. “I’m not using it to defame him, I’m simply describing his political affiliations,” he said, perching his immaculate glasses back on his nose.

  Aware that this conversation was derailing quickly, Fina intervened. “Professor Lighton, could Granville have actually carried out his threat of withdrawing funds for the named professorship?”

  “Yes, though not without the potential to crack open a major scandal. My, ah… political activities would be exposed, and that would look bad for Edgar and perhaps the family as a whole. Hard to say. In any case, Granville didn’t seem to mind – at least not at the time. I supposed Edgar and I both believed he would see sense by morning,” he said, now in a somewhat shaky tone.

  “Hrmph,” mumbled the Earl. “Let’s hear what the others have to say. You!” he barked, nodding at Leslie.

  “I say, Lord S., I was absolutely devoted to Granville. You know that,” said Leslie in a hushed tone. While not letting her first impression go, Fina did shift her view of the cad in that moment. He appeared to be genuinely grieving, unlike anyone else at the table.

  The Earl himself looked taken aback by the display of emotion. “Ahem, yes, well. Of course, my boy, of course.”

  “I went up to bed when the party broke up in the saloon,” Leslie said in a quavering voice. “Then I went to bed – no cocoa, no midnight meanderings. Just bed. I woke up around 9am this morning and came straight down to breakfast.”

  “Of course you did, dear,” cooed the Countess, clearly upset by Leslie’s display of grief.

  The Earl, anxious to leave this scene behind, shifted his gaze to Ian. “And you, sir?” clearly having forgotten Ian’s name, thought Fina.

  “My name is Ian Clavering, sir,” said Ian in an evenly controlled voice. “And I followed the same routine as Mr Dashwood. Except I did go down to make myself some cocoa. As for a reason to wish Granville ill, I haven’t one,” he said, pulling at his earlobe.

  Ah, thought Fina, that must be his tell.

  “Sweetie, you know that isn’t true,” said Julia, nudging him playfully. She spread her arms around the table and proclaimed, “I’ll explain as I am a part of the possible motive.”

  While Julia delicately explained the nature of Granville’s feelings toward her, Fina saw Charles slip into the room. He gave her a wink and then stood in the corner, gazing at the similarly impassive deer head mounted on the opposite wall.

  Returning her gaze back to the uncomfortable gathering, Fina refocused on the conversation at hand. Gayatri was speaking.

  “Sajida and I went upstairs after the music ended in the saloon. We were both quite tired from the journey. We have adjoining rooms. We are both light sleepers, so one of us would have noticed if the other left her room,” she said.

  “Precisely!” declared Leslie, dropping his fork with a clatter on his plate. “You both put each other in the clear. One of you could be covering for the other, or you could both have been in on it together. And how can we trust your so-called medical skills, anyway?”

  “Now, Leslie,” said Charlotte, in a low, warning voice. Fina had completely forgotten she was at the table. “We are very grateful to Gayatri for assisting us at all. I’m sure we don’t doubt her medical expertise,” she said with finality.

  “That’s all well and good, but I still say the two of them have the perfect opportunity. Besides, they’re women,” shot back Leslie. “Their alibis are complete and utter tosh.”

  “Be that as it may,” retorted Cyril. “Why in heaven’s name would they do such a thing? Either separately, or jointly?”

  All eyes turned to Gayatri and Sajida expectantly. Sajida spoke up this time. “We haven’t any reason to wish him harm,” said Sajida confidently. Fina noticed that Gayatri was holding her breath when her
sister spoke. Was it because she was worried she would say something revealing or was it just normal older sister nervousness on behalf of the younger?

  “What about you, Charlotte?” asked Sajida, pulling her lips into a smile that almost revealed her gums.

  “Good gracious, how can you ask such a question, Miss Badarur? His own sister?” said the Countess. Her Chelsea bun hairstyle quivered and threatened to unleash itself. The Earl covered her hand in a gentle embrace.

  “It’s quite alright, Auntie,” said Charlotte. “Everyone should account for their whereabouts, including the two of you. As for me, my story is much the same as the others – though I did stay behind a few minutes after the party ended in the saloon to check with Grimston about arrangements for the following day. Oh, I did go down to speak to the cook to confer with her about our rations – given the blizzard.”

  At the mention of snow, everyone looked to the windows. Fina felt an inward collective groan was given at the sight of the falling flakes. Was that hail pelting at the window? It certainly heightened the tension in the room.

  “As for a grudge against Granville, I haven’t any, nor can I think of anything that could be possibly interpreted that way,” said Charlotte, pausing in between the din caused by the hail. Fina noticed her exquisite emerald earrings flickering in the dim light as she shook her head. She bent her head to the side and looked expectantly toward her aunt.

  Heaving a rather noticeable sigh, the Countess said, “This is rather tiresome. I am Granville’s aunt, after all. As you all know, I retired rather early. A headache was imminent and I also wanted to attend to some correspondence. I didn’t leave my room – and fell asleep around 11pm. I awoke this morning at 9:30 and immediately came to breakfast,” she said, pushing away her plate. “And if you’re asking why I should harm him, well… pish. Stuff and nonsense.” She passed the verbal baton by turning her head to her husband.

  The Earl grumbled. “So sorry, m’dear.” He patted his wife’s hand like a small dog. “After the gathering in the saloon, I had a snifter or two with the gentlemen in the study. Then I retired to bed. I’m not sure what time it was, but I suppose it must have been 10:30. I said goodnight to my dear wife,” he said, dipping his head toward her, “and woke up around nine this morning. Came straight down to breakfast.”