by Sara Rosett
Felix finished his wine and signaled the waiter for more.
I decided dinner was the only safe subject left to discuss. “You have an excellent cook here at Alton House. The dinner has been delicious. I particularly enjoyed the fish course.”
Felix didn’t seem to take in what I’d said. His focus was on the footman filling his glass. Once the man stepped back, Felix looked down the table at the dowager and announced, “I hate her, you know.”
Startled at this bald statement, I couldn’t think what to say.
“I suppose you find that shocking.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable. At first I thought it was because he was angry, but then he leaned forward, and alcoholic fumes wafted over me as he added, “She thinks she knows what’s best—not just for me and Gigi—for everyone! All the way up to the prime minister, I’m sure, she thinks her opinion is the only correct one.”
Nothing in my extensive education in ladylike behavior had covered this situation, and I searched for what my father would call a “soft answer that would turn away wrath.”
Before I could think of anything, Felix listed toward me. I put out a hand to shove him upright, but he caught himself and straightened his posture. “But she doesn’t know what’s best.” He shook his head side to side in an exaggerated manner. “She doesn’t realize times have changed.”
He waved a hand, his wine nearly sloshing over the rim of his glass as he gestured to the snowy tablecloth, the masses of hothouse flowers, and the compotes of candy and nuts that Elrick was positioning for the footmen to bring to the table for the last course. “This is a fading way of life, Miss Belgrave.” Felix’s glass arched through the air again as he swept his hand up to the chandelier, then back down to indicate the guests. “We’re dinosaurs. We’ll be extinct soon, this species of the high society set.” Heads turned at the sibilant sound that came as he over-enunciated his words. “Dinosaurs. That’s what we are.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s to the last of the outmoded aristocracy.”
The dowager’s ringing tone drowned out the muted conversation that was still going on at the far end of the table. “I agree with you, Felix. Most of the younger generation is only interested in pursuing shortsighted goals.” She sent a look down the table to her solicitor, Mr. Tower. I hadn’t spoken to him before dinner, other than to be introduced to him. He was a tall, ginger-haired man who looked to be in his early thirties, and he had an air of quiet confidence.
“That’s why I have asked Benedict here tonight,” the dowager said. “It’s time for a new will. I intend to leave everything to the only person in this family who works or shows any initiative.” Her gaze cut across the table. “Clara’s more worthy than the rest of you put together.”
Clara started, and her hand knocked against her wine glass. It teetered, but Mr. Tower, who was seated beside her and had looked up sharply when the dowager made her announcement, steadied it. What little color there was in Clara’s already pale complexion drained away, leaving her thick band of freckles looking even more stark against her ashen skin.
The dowager clearly hadn’t forewarned her solicitor of her intention. A look of surprise had flashed across his face before he’d reached to steady Clara’s glass. But now his face was expressionless as he dipped his head toward the dowager. “I’m at your service, Your Grace, as always. But perhaps it would be most convenient for me to return tomorrow morning. We can discuss this further at that time.”
“There’s no need for that. I’ve made up my mind, and you know I don’t waffle. Once I’ve set my course, I don’t change it on a whim.” The dowager looked across at Gigi, a challenge in her gaze.
Gigi lifted her chin. “It’s your money, Granny. You do with it whatever you like.”
The corners of the dowager’s lips turned up a tiny bit. The answer pleased her, it seemed, even though she hid it quickly. She stood. “We’ll leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars.”
I glanced at Felix as I gathered my gloves. He stared at the dowager as if he were seeing double, then he shook his head and downed his wine in a single gulp.
I fell into step beside Gigi, who didn’t look at all perturbed. “That was shocking.”
“She doesn’t mean it. Granny just likes exercising her power.”
I looked at the group of ladies moving ahead of us to the drawing room. Essie was near the front, her towering feathered headdress bobbing along in the group behind the dowager. “It will be fodder for Essie, though.”
Gigi laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it will turn up in The Hullabaloo tomorrow. Granny only has herself to blame. She’ll be genuinely horrified that her name is in the paper, but it’s too juicy for Essie to pass up.” Gigi’s face turned serious. “It is odd that Granny invited her, then mentioned changing her will. Bit of an oversight on Granny’s part.”
“It wasn’t your idea to invite Essie?”
“No. Granny didn’t consult me about the guest list. I’m shocked it’s such a young crowd, actually. It’s not like Granny at all. Of course it’s intentional. She’s trying to force me into being more circumspect and thinks embarrassing me will do the trick.”
“Perhaps she was trying to do something nice by including your friends.”
“Granny? She doesn’t do nice things for people. She does improving and philanthropic things for people, things that are in their best interest—whether they like it or not.”
We’d barely sat down in the drawing room when the dowager said, “Clara, I want that crossword puzzle I set aside to show Mr. Tower. It’s in the study.”
Clara hopped up, a look of relief washing over her face. It was no wonder she was happy to escape for a few moments after the dowager’s dramatic announcement. I poured myself a cup of coffee and went to sit beside Essie.
“You look like a cat who found a whole crate of cream.”
“I have indeed. After an announcement like that, my editor will be extremely pleased with me. It’s certainly more exciting than anything else I’ve had to write about lately.”
“Such as?” I asked, and Essie told me about the social events she’d attended recently, all the while working in questions about Gigi and whether or not she’d known anything about the dowager’s announcement. “I have no idea,” I said. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
“Oh, I intend to. I’m giving her some time before I approach her. I wanted to see if she spoke to the dowager, but it doesn’t look as if that will happen.”
The men joined us, and the dowager motioned for Mr. Tower to have a seat beside her. “Where is Clara? She should be back by now with the puzzle I want to show you, Mr. Tower. You’re always so good at knowing the exact right word.”
“My profession does depend on it.”
The dowager turned to Gigi. “See what’s keeping Clara.”
Gigi put down her cup of coffee and rose to her feet in a more leisurely way than Clara had. As she walked across the room, she slipped her hands into her pockets. I bet that while she was out of the room, Gigi would take the opportunity to sneak a cigarette. But then a wrinkle appeared between her brows. She swung around and ran her gaze over the marble-topped rococo side table near the chair where she’d been sitting. It held a porcelain lamp and a cut-glass dish filled with potpourri. Gigi turned away, checking her other pocket again as she left on her errand.
She was back a few moments later. The wrinkle between her brows had deepened to a full frown. “You sent Clara to the study, didn’t you, Granny?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Odd. The study door is locked.”
“Locked?” She turned to Elrick, who glided forward from where he’d been standing at the side of the room.
“I’ll see to it, Your Grace.”
Gigi said, “But I knocked. Why wouldn’t Clara answer?”
“She’s probably rather overwhelmed by my news and wanted a few moments alone,” the dowager said. Essie had shifted her attention to Mr. York and was trying to wrangle an invitation to see a s
pecial exhibit of Italian sculpture that would open soon at the museum.
Gigi dropped down into a chair upholstered in white velvet and leaned toward me. “That’s not like Clara. She always does exactly what Granny says. Something’s wrong.”
“Maybe she left the study, and the door locked as she closed it. Or perhaps she went somewhere else before returning here? Her room?”
Gigi popped up. “Let’s go see.”
“All right.” We slipped out of the drawing room, and Gigi went to the next door along the hallway. “Here’s the study.” She rapped on the wood. “Clara? Are you in there?” There was no answer or any movement from the other side of the door. Gigi knocked again, louder this time. “Clara? Please open up if you’re in there. It’s me and my friend Olive.”
Gigi tried the handle, but it didn’t give. She whirled around and headed for the staircase to Clara’s room. I matched her pace as she raced up to the landing. “It’s not like Clara to put off Granny.” Gigi tapped on a door near the stairs, waited a few seconds, then opened it, but the room was uninhabited. I couldn’t help but compare it to my luxurious quarters. Clara’s room was much smaller and only had a single window. While the furniture was of good quality, none of it matched. The drapes and counterpane were of a plain silk and looked a bit worn.
Gigi closed the door. “Where could she be?”
“Does she have a favorite room she likes to spend time in?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Pounding resounded throughout the house. We hurried down the stairs and found a commotion in the hall outside the door to the study. Elrick, still dignified and correct, was knocking firmly—banging, actually, an action I’d never have imagined I’d see from him. Elrick broke off and called, “Miss Clack? Are you in there? Please unlock the door.”
Gigi touched Mr. Tower’s arm. “What’s happened?”
He was quite a bit taller than Gigi, and he leaned to the side. “Apparently the key has gone missing as well as Miss Clack. The dowager sent the staff to look for her, but she’s nowhere to be found on this floor.”
“And Olive and I just looked upstairs. She’s not in her room.”
Inglebrook, who had been standing behind Elrick, said, “We have to break down the door. She must be hurt.” He swept his arm side to side to clear a path. “I’ll give it a go.” He shifted his broad shoulders so they were at an angle, then charged at the door. His shoulder slammed into the thick mahogany, which stopped him cold. He sagged against the door for a moment before pressing his hand to it and pushing himself upright.
Inglebrook shook his head and backed up a few steps, preparing to give it another go, but Mr. Tower said, “Perhaps there’s a less painful way.” He looked to the dowager. “This room connects to the library, correct? And isn’t there a set of pocket doors between the rooms?”
“Yes, but the pocket doors haven’t been opened in ages.” The dowager turned to a woman on the outskirts of the group. She wore a plain dark dress with immaculate white cuffs. “Mrs. Monce?”
The housekeeper’s cheeks flushed as she flipped through the keys on her ring, which was attached to her waist by a long chain. “I don’t understand it, Your Grace. The key to the pocket doors is missing as well. I apologize, Your Grace. I don’t know what’s happened.”
“Let’s take a look at those doors.” Mr. Tower set off to the next door along the hallway. The rest of us trailed along in his wake, but he was tall and had a long stride. We filtered into the library, which was lit only with ambient light from the hallway. I had a quick impression of another immense room with glass-fronted bookcases, all filled with gold-tooled spines.
Mr. Tower had already taken out a pocketknife. He held his lighter close to the lock that held the two doors together as he slid the blade into the seam between them. He jiggled the knife, gave it a gentle twist, and a soft click sounded. The doors rolled smoothly back as he pushed them apart. The study was a much smaller room than the library. It was dark except for a single lamp positioned on a table against the back wall. It was switched on, and its small circle of light illuminated a woman lying on her side on the floor.
Her face was in darkness, but the spotlight of the lamp fell on her chest and upper legs. Blood covered her dress and the floorboards around her. A knife, red glistening on the blade, lay in a puddle of blood on the floor.
Chapter Five
For a second after the door opened, there was stunned silence. Then the dowager strode across the room and stopped just short of the blood.
“Is it Clara?” Gigi asked, following the dowager.
The dowager whirled around and waved us backward. “Everyone stay out! Yes, it’s Clara.” She advanced on us, and we fell back, returning to the dim library. My knees knocked into a table and sent chess pieces skittering, while someone else bumped into another piece of furniture and muttered, “Blast! Where’s the lights?”
The dowager’s voice rang out. “Someone switch on the lamps.” Spots of illumination appeared throughout the room.
“Elrick, telephone the police.” The dowager drew the doors together and stood in front of them.
I had to admire her aplomb. It had only taken a few subversive statements from Felix to fluster me at dinner. She had just discovered her companion had been murdered, and she barely looked discomposed. The dowager said, “I suggest we all have a seat and wait for the police to arrive.”
She sent for a footman to stand guard beside the entrance to the study and a maid to light the fire, then she took a seat in a wingback chair that gave her a view of the pocket doors.
Shell-shocked by the sight of Clara lying lifeless and covered with blood, everyone was moving quietly now, gravitating to the warmth of the fire, except for Gigi, who remained motionless near the closed doors.
I put an arm under her elbow and guided her to a chair near the hearth. The crackling and popping of the fire was the only sound in the room. Now that the lights were on, I could see that the library was filled to the brim with beautiful leather-bound volumes, but I couldn’t appreciate it, not after what I’d just seen. I shifted a diminutive chair with scroll legs and a needlepoint cushion closer to Gigi and sat down. She stared at the carpet, her arms crossed over her waist.
Inglebrook, still rubbing his shoulder, moved to stand beside Gigi’s chair. Rollo had his arm wrapped around Addie. She was crying, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes as Rollo murmured into her ear. Mr. Tower, looking more somber than he had all evening, stood in the shadows at the edge of the room, while Felix, his face the same gray shade as the faded parchment map on the wall behind him, lowered himself onto the Chesterfield sofa. The earl and Mr. York spoke quietly a little distance from the group.
Essie perched on the edge of a scroll armchair. Her reporter instincts were strong, and she was practically vibrating with energy as her bright gaze darted from the pocket doors to each person. The feather on her headdress quivered with each jerky movement. Then she turned slightly away and seemed to be fascinated with the chair cushion. I strained my neck and saw she’d taken a small pencil from her pocket and was writing in a notebook, which she’d hidden in the folds of her skirt.
I wondered for a brief second if Detective Inspector Longly would be assigned to the case, then immediately remembered he was not in town. We all jumped when Elrick’s voice intoned, “Detective Inspector Makepeace and Detective Sergeant Lawson.” Two young men in nice suits with their hair slicked back from their handsome faces entered the library.
Inglebrook said, “That was incredibly speedy.”
The police had been uncommonly prompt, but I supposed when Alton House rang up, the police didn’t waste any time in responding. “And unusual,” I murmured. “You’d think a bobby would arrive first.” The detective inspector looked familiar. Even though I was a ladylike young woman, I’d been involved in several investigations. Perhaps Makepeace had been associated with one? I searched my memory trying to place him but came up blank.
Makepeace was in
the lead and spoke as he crossed the room. “My sergeant and I were Johnny-on-the-spot, you might say. We came along immediately.” He moved across the room unerringly to the dowager and greeted her. Makepeace looked rather young, as if he’d just come up from Eton, while Lawson was a tad older and had a mustache. He held a notebook at the ready.
“How can we be of service, Your Grace?” Makepeace asked. “Something about a body?”
“Yes. So tragic. It’s Clara Clack, my companion. We found her in the small study, which is on the other side of the pocket doors. I entered the study, but no one has been in there since.”
“Very good. I will take a look, then I’ll have some questions for you all.” Makepeace went to the study with Sergeant Lawson trailing behind him. They closed the pocket doors after they went through, and we waited in silence. I thought they’d be in the study for a long time, but a few moments later, Makepeace threw back the doors and reentered the room.
Lawson followed him out, then fastened the doors and stationed himself in front of them. Makepeace crossed the room to our grouping around the fire, shaking his head. “Tragic, as you say, Your Grace.” His gaze skimmed over all of us as he asked, “I assume you were all together this evening for dinner?”
The dowager answered, describing the ladies leaving the dinner table and how she had sent Clara to look for a newspaper for her. “And when Clara hadn’t returned by the time the men joined us in the drawing room, I sent my granddaughter to look for her.”
Makepeace’s gaze skipped from one man to the other as he asked, “Gentlemen, were you all together this evening? As you moved from the dining room to the drawing room, did anyone leave the group?”
Mr. Tower spoke up. “No, I think we were all present and accounted for. But I must say, this isn’t quite cricket, is it, to question us together? Shouldn’t you—”