The thunder rumbled again. I had no special desire to remain cooped up in my room in the dark, in the middle of a raging storm. “Yes, I’ll come down. Are the others there?”
“That’s what makes it so bad,” Emmeline said. “Mrs. Hamilton’s there, pale as a ghost. No one seems to know what to say to her. I … even I can’t seem to think of anything … and I know how she feels.” Emmeline looked on the verge of tears.
“You needn’t come down if you don’t feel up to it,” Gil interjected. “If you’d rather not speak to Mrs. Hamilton just now…”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Perhaps we can cheer her up a bit.”
We ventured downstairs. The hotel was strangely quiet, save for noise of the storm and the pounding of the sea, which was audible even in the lobby. A few people sat around with candles and lanterns, talking in subdued voices. I supposed most of the guests had kept to their rooms.
Gil and I entered the sitting room. Emmeline was right. The mood in the room was strangely oppressive. Everyone was still and very quiet. It was almost eerie. Mrs. Hamilton sat near Mrs. Rodgers, neither of them saying anything.
“Perhaps we can get someone to light a fire in the fireplace,” I told Gil. “It would brighten the room.”
“I’ll go speak to the desk clerk,” he said.
“There’s a windup gramophone on the table there,” Anne Rodgers suggested as silence descended once again. “We don’t need electricity for that.”
No one responded, and she made no move toward it. Perhaps she realized none of us felt much like music.
I approached Mrs. Hamilton. “How are you feeling tonight?” I asked her.
“Not very well. The storm seems to make everything much worse.” Her eyes welled with tears that glimmered in the lamp-lit room.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. Wiping her eyes, she also removed a cigarette case. She put a cigarette to her lips and lit it with fairly steady hands. Despite her poise, I knew she must be unnerved, for I had not seen her smoke before this.
“I couldn’t sit all alone in my room in the dark,” she said.
“Of course not. No one would want you to.”
“I can’t wait to get away from this place,” Veronica Carter said suddenly, her voice loud in the room. “It’s simply ghastly here.”
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Rodgers, emphatically. “If it wasn’t for this storm, I’d leave here tonight, that inspector be hanged.”
“That’s no way to talk, Anne,” her husband said in that perpetually dull tone of his. “There are legal formalities to be observed.”
“It’s the strain,” Lionel Blake replied, puffing at a cigarette. He appeared perfectly calm, as he had when we had spoken outside, but his voice sounded strange.
A sudden shriek startled us all, and a moment later Mrs. Roland flew into the room like a great bat. She was dressed head to toe in black, including the velvet turban wrapped around her head. Indeed, the long, draped sleeves of her dress flapped like bony wings as she waved her arms about. “I was almost killed coming down the stairs in the dark,” she said. “The lift isn’t working, and neither is the telephone. It was like wandering around in a cave.” She dropped into a chair and heaved a great sigh. “A cigarette, please. Someone give me a cigarette.”
Mrs. Hamilton offered her one. “What a lovely case, dear. I do so love gold things. Mr. Howe had a magnificent lighter … but perhaps I shouldn’t speak of that now. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Emmeline. You probably bought the lighter for him.”
“No, I…” Emmeline said, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to cry. Then she summoned up the courage to keep on talking in the same level voice. “It doesn’t upset me. It was a lovely lighter. He was very proud of it. From one of the better London jewelers, Price and Lord, I think he said it was. I don’t know how he acquired it … I should like to have it, to remember him by.”
“Haven’t the police given it to you?” Mrs. Roland asked, the cigarette dangling between bright red lips.
“No, it … it wasn’t on the list of things that they found…” Her voice trailed off, and I knew that she meant the things that had been on the body. The poor girl. I felt it a good sign that she was able to discuss him without dissolving into tears.
“Perhaps it will turn up,” I said.
“He may have put it in his little treasure box.”
“Treasure box?” Mrs. Roland’s heavily penciled brows rose, and I sensed that the attention of the room had suddenly shifted in our direction.
Emmeline smiled, a sad little smile that made her seem very young. “That’s what I used to call it. He brought it with him when he traveled to keep his valuables in. He’d usually hide it about his room somewhere.” She frowned. “The police didn’t mention having seen it in his room, and I’ve been so upset that I didn’t think of it. I shall ask them, tomorrow perhaps, when the lights come back.”
“Speaking of light, has anyone a light?” Mrs. Roland asked, pulling a handkerchief from her bosom and dragging it across her face. “I’m so very flushed from my ordeal … I feel as though I may combust and light it myself. Humans do that sometimes, don’t they? Combust, I mean. I’ve heard that, though it seems frightfully silly to me.”
Mr. Blake supplied a match, and Mrs. Roland inhaled deeply. Then she sat back and sighed out a great cloud of smoke. “What I really need is a good stiff drink. I’ve had quite a fright. The lights went out, and I couldn’t see a thing.”
The conversation resumed, but I barely heard it, my thoughts wandering in another direction. A gold lighter was an expensive gift, especially if it hadn’t come from Emmeline. Perhaps he had bought it for himself, though men like Rupert seemed very adept at getting things out of women. Unwillingly, my thoughts wandered to the gift I had bought for Milo yesterday, gold cufflinks, which had just happened to be engraved with an A. Engraved …
Mrs. Roland had seen Rupert with a gold lighter. I had found a gold lighter among Mr. Hamilton’s things. It had been engraved with an H. Could it be that it had belonged not to Mr. Hamilton but to Rupert Howe? It was an interesting thought.
If only I could find some way to inspect the lighter again. Or, better yet, see if I could find one amid Rupert’s things. Surely the police would have mentioned a “treasure box” containing Rupert’s valuables to Emmeline.
Something suddenly occurred to me. Nearly all of our party was gathered here in the sitting room. What was to stop me from going to Rupert’s room to look around? It would only require a key … and I felt fairly certain I could gain hold of one.
My sense of caution, heightened by recent events, warred with the desire to attempt to gain some vital piece of information. In the end, the impulse to follow my hunch was stronger than my more practical inclination to remain quietly sitting in the lamp-lit room with the other guests. One of whom was, in all probability, a killer, I reminded myself.
“Gil was going about collecting guests,” Miss Carter said to Mrs. Roland, and I realized they were still talking about the unexpected loss of power. “I’m surprised you didn’t encounter him.”
“He’s off to find Olive, I expect,” Mrs. Roland said. “Emmeline dear, you’re looking thin. I’ve a box of very good chocolates in my room. When the lights come back on, I’ll fetch them for you.”
“That reminds me, I’m going to fetch something from my room,” I said to no one in particular, rising in what I hoped was a passably nonchalant fashion. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
I took one of the spare lights that rested on the table and set out into the lobby. The people who sat there had begun a game of cards and paid me no mind. I had hoped, because of the power outage and resulting chaos, there would be no one at the desk. Unfortunately, the desk clerk was there. I hesitated a moment in the shadows, feeling vaguely like some Victorian murderer waiting for a passing victim. If I could just create a minor distraction of some sort …
Then a perfectly wicked thought cross
ed my mind, and before I had half thought it through, I dropped the oil lamp I was holding. It shattered on the marble floor, creating a small whoosh of flame as the fire hit the pool of oil, brilliantly lighting the dim foyer.
25
THE FIRE FLARED brightly, and I stood staring at it, a bit shocked by what I had done. I heard a startled gasp from one of the guests seated in the lobby.
“Oh, dear,” I called to the clerk. “I’m afraid I’ve…”
“I’ll get something to put it out,” he said, darting from behind the desk and rushing off. I hoped he remembered that oil fires were not easily extinguished with water.
I looked down at the fire I had started. The oil was already burning itself out, and the marble floor was not going to let the fire spread. The group playing cards must have realized it as well, for they returned their attention to their game. With a quick glance around me, I slipped behind the desk and examined the rows of keys. It would only be a matter of seconds before the clerk would be back. Rupert’s room was on the floor above mine. If I remembered correctly from when it had been mentioned at the inquest, it was 211. My eyes scanned the keys. It was entirely possible that the police had confiscated all the keys to Rupert’s room, but no! There it was.
I grabbed the key, slipped it into my pocket, and slid quickly around the desk. A moment later, the clerk returned with a bucket of sand that he poured over the already-sputtering flames.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, and I meant it. Though I had been almost certain the fire would not spread, I couldn’t really have been absolutely sure. Had I taken a moment to think, I wouldn’t have done it. I should dearly have hated to add arson to my list of sins.
“It’s quite all right,” he said, though he was pale. “Are you hurt, Mrs. Ames?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Is there something I can do?”
“No, I’ll have someone clean up the glass. You’re certain you’re all right?”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said again. “I was just going upstairs and…”
“I think I have a torch behind the desk,” he said. He moved to pull open a drawer, rummaging around for a moment before removing a torch. Flicking it on, he handed it to me, obviously relieved to give me a source of light that did not involve fire and flammable liquids.
I turned toward the stairs, the guilty weight of the key hanging heavily in my pocket. I was so lost in thought that I nearly ran headlong into Gil and Olive, neither of whom saw me, as they descended the stairs, talking in low tones. They stopped at the foot of the stairs when I approached, both of them looking vaguely embarrassed.
“Hello, Amory,” Gil said. “I’ve just brought Olive down from upstairs.”
Olive’s face was pale and wan in the dim light of Gil’s lamp. She was wearing long sleeves, which I imagined must cover the bandages on her wrists. Aside from an initial glance, she didn’t meet my gaze.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said.
“Not at all,” Gil said. There was something odd in his demeanor, though I couldn’t quite detect what it was.
“How are you, Olive?” I asked.
“I’m all right,” she answered stiffly.
As anxious as I was to search Rupert’s room, I felt that perhaps now would be a good time to talk to her alone, before we were all cramped together in the sitting room. “Gil, would you mind very much if I spoke to Olive for a moment?”
Gil looked strange, drawn. He hesitated for a long moment and then nodded. He handed the light to Olive and left the two of us alone in stony silence. It seemed the best course of action would be to plunge ahead.
“Olive, I’m sorry if this question seems impertinent. In fact, I’m quite sure it will. But did you buy Rupert a gold lighter?”
She looked at me sharply, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “I don’t know why everyone thinks … No, I didn’t give him anything. I never cared for Rupert, though there was a time when we were together quite often. Aside from being a notorious flirt, he was not at all a nice man. Anyone could see that.”
I was confused by her sudden denial. “Then why…” My voice trailed off. It seemed ill mannered to ask someone exactly why they had slit their wrists with a razor blade.
Sudden understanding flashed across her face, and for a moment some of the coldness left her features. “You don’t know,” she said.
“Know what?”
“You think I loved Rupert…”
Something flickered in her eyes, and suddenly I knew, with absolute clarity, what she meant. I was blind, utterly stupid, not to have seen it before.
“You’re in love with Gil,” I whispered.
Her gaze hardened again before she looked away. “I suppose you think I’m terribly foolish, behaving the way I have.”
Everything began to slide into place: Olive’s behavior, Gil’s mysterious absences, the visit that had upset Olive in the hospital. It all seemed to make sense. I couldn’t believe that I had never guessed, but perhaps I had been too involved with my own affairs to take proper notice of the affairs of others.
“I’m the one who feels foolish,” I said. “I should have realized how you felt.”
“He’s mad about you, you know,” she said. There was no bitterness in her brittle smile or in the tears that glistened in her eyes. “Whenever someone mentions you, his eyes light up and … I’ve made a perfect fool of myself trying to make him love me again. Or perhaps he never did, I don’t know…”
Something about her words hit me forcibly, and I found that I felt on the verge of tears myself. Impulsively, I reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, Olive … You see, I too know what it’s like to love someone whose feelings are … ambiguous.”
“Your husband,” she said.
It was my turn to smile sadly. “I sometimes believe he married me only to prove that he could.”
“I thought, when he came here, that perhaps you still loved him.” There was something so blatantly hopeful in her gaze that I felt somewhat ashamed of myself.
“I … things are unsettled at the moment.”
She nodded. “Gil will take you in an instant, if you want him. If you decide you don’t, I’ll still be waiting.”
With that, she walked past me and toward the sitting room. Despite the desperation of her words, there was a quiet dignity about her as she walked away, and I thought that perhaps I had misjudged her.
I was glad she had gone, for I wouldn’t have been able to think of an appropriate reply. It was wrong of me, I knew, to keep Gil dancing in attendance when I hadn’t settled things with Milo. Yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to give him up, not when it was possible he might soon be all I had left.
I made my way up the darkened staircase, shadows flickering on the walls around me. It was rather eerie. The light of the torch only extended so far, and it was not until I was nearly to the first-floor landing that I realized there was someone standing there.
I lifted the torch and stopped, startled to see Milo illuminated by the feeble beam.
* * *
“HELLO, DARLING,” HE said as he approached. “Awful weather, isn’t it? I was almost washed away on my way from the station.” He smiled, obviously exhilarated by the wretched weather. His clothes were soaked; it seemed he must have just come in from outside.
“Have you the key to our room? I’ve lost mine in one of my pockets.”
“I … yes, I have it.”
We walked down the hall to our room in silence.
“I thought you’d gone to London,” I said lamely as we reached my door. I was so surprised by his sudden arrival, I could think of nothing intelligent to say.
“I did. Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“No,” I said. I moved past him and unlocked the door to my room. He followed me inside. With the torch, I was able to locate an oil lamp sitting on a table in the corner. I lit it and the yellow glow filled the room.
“You’re angry that I left without speaking to you,” he
said, pulling off his dripping overcoat and tossing it over the back of a chair. “I had to catch the train, darling.”
I turned to face him. “Inspector Jones told me it was you who reported seeing Gil on the terrace before the murder.”
If I expected him to be abashed at this revelation, I had forgotten his unwavering self-possession. He looked at me with a perfectly unruffled expression. “Ah. He told you, did he? I expected he would.”
“How could you have seen Gil talking to Rupert on the terrace before tea? You weren’t even at the hotel until that evening.”
“I expect he told you that, too,” he said, pulling off his jacket and running his fingers through his damp hair. He had never cared for hats, even in the rain. “I came down directly after you did. I stayed at the pub. I thought it best not to drop in at the Brightwell right away.”
I decided, for the moment, to let drop the subject of why he had followed me to the seaside in the first place. Instead, I asked, “Why did you tell the inspector you had seen Gil?”
“Because I did.”
“Did you?” I challenged.
He smiled. “Don’t you believe me?”
“Gil didn’t kill Rupert, Milo.”
“Perhaps not, but I thought it worth mentioning that the two of them were arguing shortly before Rupert was coshed on the head and tossed over the ledge.”
Was he telling the truth? It was so difficult to tell.
“Inspector Jones was angry that you left,” I told him, changing the course of the conversation yet again. I said nothing of my own anger, the hurt that had come at his jaunting off to London with barely a word.
“I expect he’ll forgive me when he hears what I’ve learned.”
He wanted me to be intrigued, so I displayed no interest whatsoever. I resisted the urge to tell him I hoped he would be arrested.
If he noticed my lack of enthusiasm, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out a fresh suit of clothes and then went into the bathroom to dry off before changing, without so much as a word.
Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery Page 24