by Sara Rosett
“Yes, but as I said, Stella liked fine things. Surely you understand that, Inspector. You can’t blame her for wanting to possess it for a few hours. I’m sure she would have taken it to Mrs. Monce first thing in the morning.”
Thorn made a humming sound that indicated he was doubtful. I could see his point. To be accused of theft was a nightmare for a servant. It might mean instant dismissal. But Stella had handled my gold evening gown reverently. She’d stroked the silk in a way that was almost a caress. I could imagine her taking a risk and holding onto the cameo so she could enjoy it for a while.
Someone tapped on the door, and a constable stuck his head in. When he saw Thorn, he hurried across the room and whispered something in his ear.
Thorn stood. “I’ll have more questions for you later, Lady Gina.”
After he and the sergeant left, Gigi’s stiff posture collapsed, and she fell back against the chair. “What a horrible man. Stella, a thief! It’s absurd.”
The teapot was still warm, so I poured out fresh cups for us. We sipped in silence for a moment, then Gigi said, “As much as I dislike the man, he’s right.”
“About it being someone here in the house? Yes, it must be.”
“But who would do such a thing—twice!”
“Let’s go over everyone carefully, starting with your grandmother’s death.”
Gigi lifted her cup and swirled her tea. She watched the liquid a moment. “Dowd would never harm Granny. She’s too loyal, and she wouldn’t kill her employer. The same goes for Clara. They’d both be out of a job. And Felix won’t gain anything either—monetarily, at least,” Gigi said. “He would be free of Granny’s manipulation, though.”
As would Gigi, I thought but didn’t say aloud.
Gigi continued, “And then there’s Addie. Granny interfered in her life, but would she poison two people?” Gigi rubbed her forehead. “No, I just can’t imagine it.”
“But someone did it.”
“It doesn’t make sense. No one has an especially strong motive.”
“Perhaps we just haven’t uncovered the real motive yet.”
“But how can we do that?”
A quiet tap caused both Gigi and me to turn toward the door. For a second, I thought Thorn had returned, but it couldn’t be him because the soft knock that came again was very different from Thorn’s peremptory banging. A young woman, who I recognized as the maid Mrs. Monce had led down the stairs, poked her head around the door. Her long black hair was now drawn up into a neat bun, and she’d changed into a black dress and freshly pressed apron, but her eyes and nose were pink.
“Come in, Lillian,” Gigi said. The maid held a salver with an envelope and brought it to me. I worked my finger under the flap, then drew out the flimsy sheet of writing paper.
It was from Boggs. “That was fast work,” I murmured under my breath. I’d written to him after I returned from Gunter’s. I hadn’t expected to hear from him for several days. It read, I have a few details to pass along. If it is convenient for you, I will be at the Mathis Theater all day.
The maid said, “Lady Gina, Mrs. Monce sent me to remind you the inquest is this morning and to help you dress.”
“Oh, that’s right. Thank you, Lillian. I’d completely forgotten. That’s going ahead, then?”
“Nine thirty, my lady,” Lillian said. “Mr. Elrick asked the policeman.”
Gigi rubbed her forehead. “Then I’ll wear my black silk, the one with the jet beading. I’ll bathe while you lay it out for me along with the matching shoes.”
“Very good, my lady.” Lillian went through to Gigi’s room and opened the enormous wardrobe.
Gigi put her cup on the tray and stood. “The funeral will be after the inquest and is for family only, per Granny’s orders, then we’re all to come back here for the reading of the will in the library—terribly trite, I know. But Benny says Granny stipulated the schedule of events in great detail.”
“Benny?”
“Mr. Tower. He’s a rule-follower, so he’ll carry it out. However, Granny didn’t have the foresight to envision there would be an inquest into her death, and it is open to attend. Are you coming?”
“No.” I slipped the note from Boggs back into the envelope. “I think my time is better spent elsewhere. I have a few things I must do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sebastian had requested I meet him in the morning, but in Mayfair “morning” meant ten o’clock or later. It was now half past ten, and I hoped I wasn’t too early. I slowed my steps as I approached the block of flats he’d listed in his note. A blustery wind plucked at the folds of my coat. I put my hand up to anchor my hat. As I approached the building, I realized why the street address had sounded familiar. I’d been to South Regent Mansions before. I’d been so preoccupied with thinking about the awful events surrounding Stella’s death that I hadn’t recognized the address.
As I looked over the building, I had a sinking sensation in my stomach. I’d been inside the elegant South Regent Mansions, and I knew I couldn’t afford a flat. Wings extended out from the entry on either side of the central block of the building, but instead of straight lines and sharp corners, the exterior of the brick fifteen-story building undulated in a smooth curve, giving it a modern look.
Sebastian had offered to help me, and I’d sent him a note agreeing to meet him, so it would be rude to turn away now. I squared my shoulders and entered the building. At least I had Mr. Quigley to provide an excuse, and I wouldn’t have to admit how far out of my budget South Regent Mansions was. Disclosing my limited finances would embarrass both Sebastian and me. It would be best to avoid talking about it if possible.
The entry with its marble tile and crystal chandelier was hushed and had an air of expensive sophistication. A wide crimson carpet ran from the front door up a set of shallow steps to a lift. While the exterior lines of the building curved and undulated, straight lines predominated inside. Long rectangular crystals sparkled in the chandelier, and interlocking triangular patterns framed the mirrors and wall sconces. An enormous bouquet of white chrysanthemums sat on a side table across from the porter’s nook.
My last visit to South Regent Mansions had been when I’d helped my cousin sort out a problem related to her fiancé. I’d spoken to the hall porter at that time. With his large stature and bristling mustache, he’d brought to mind a walrus, but today a lean, clean-shaven man with spectacles greeted me.
I said, “I’m here to see Mr. Blakely.”
“Mr. Blakely arrived a short time ago. You’re welcome to go straight up. Apartment 221.”
“The second floor? Are you sure it’s not the sixth?”
“Yes, miss. Second floor. Mr. Blakely owns two flats here. Today he’s in the one on the second floor.”
“I see.” I stepped inside the lift, and the operator, a boy of about fourteen, set it in motion. The passageway on the second floor was carpeted in the same plush crimson as the lobby runner. The walls and wainscoting were pure white.
I knocked on the door, and Sebastian opened it a few seconds later, a grin stretching across the skeletal bone structure of his face. “Olive, delighted to see you. Come in. Come in. It’s a bit crowded here near the door, but the flat opens up nicely. Come and see.”
The hall was indeed narrow with two doors on the right and a blank wall on the left. I had to step aside so Sebastian could close the door to the hall. He waved to the first open door as he led the way down the hall. “Kitchenette.” The room contained a two-burner stove top and sink. “Full kitchen downstairs, and you can order up anything you’d like. The food is surpassingly good. Maid service on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Sebastian moved to the next door. “Bath.” It was tiled in a black and white octagonal pattern on the floor, while rectangular white subway tiles lined the walls. A sink, toilet, and tub with a shower attachment had been fitted into the room, making economical use of every bit of the small space.
“It’s very modern and well-arranged,” I said.
The hallway ended at two doors. The room on the right was a bedroom with a double bed, dressing table, and an upholstered club chair. The room on the left was a sitting room. A sofa that was flanked by two chairs was positioned at one end of the room. At the other, a writing desk was angled so that the person sitting behind it would have a view out the window that filled the entire wall. It overlooked a garden at the back of the building and gave a view of the skyline of London. Opposite the massive window, a painting of calla lilies hung over the marble mantel of the fireplace. The painting was done in the modern style with thick lines. It reminded me of the blocky modern art I’d looked at with Jasper, but the bold lines of this painting had a soft, almost luminescent quality to them.
Sebastian walked to the window, giving me a few moments to look around. “As you can see, it’s the same layout as the other flat, if you remember.”
“Oh, yes. I remember. It is delightful.” It would have been wonderful to work at the desk and look up and admire the view or to curl up in the sofa with a cup of tea. “But I’m afraid I have come into possession of a parrot. I should have let you know right away and saved you a trip here this morning—”
“Pets are not a problem. We have a Pekingese, a turtle, and a hedgehog, all on this floor.” Sebastian leaned in and lowered his voice. “But don’t tell the porter about the hedgehog. He’s deathly afraid of them, apparently.”
“Oh.” I scrambled to think of some other way to gracefully get myself out of the situation. The flat was indeed lovely, and it was a thousand times nicer than anything else I’d seen, but it would be far out of my budget.
The only thing to do was tell the truth, but Sebastian had walked to the painting over the fireplace and was examining the frame as he spoke. “I’ve had nothing but trouble with the last few tenants, so I’m quite willing to give it to you at a discount, simply because I know that leasing it to you will be trouble-free.”
I grinned. “I might need to get that statement from you in writing so I can show it to Jasper. He doesn’t believe that I’m trouble-free.”
The skin stretched tight across Sebastian’s cheekbones as he returned my smile. “You do lead an interesting life, but you won’t steal anything, raise the ire of the other tenants, or damage the furnishings.” He turned back and ran his finger down the edge of the frame. “The last tenants had a row, and the wife hurled her hairbrush at the husband. She missed him but hit this painting. Knocked it off the wall and cracked the frame. The prior tenant—the one before the unhappily married couple—got into some fisticuffs and put his hand through the wall in the corridor instead of into his opponent’s jaw. That had to be repaired as well.”
“Goodness.”
He turned away from the painting. “The wall and the frame were repairable, but needless to say, I don’t want to deal with that sort of thing.”
“Well, if that’s your definition of trouble-free, I’d have to agree.”
“Good,” he said and named a figure for the lease that had me tilting my head.
“But that’s so low.”
“Is it? If I don’t have to repair the walls, placate the porter, or worry about my artwork—I’m quite fond of my paintings, you know—then I consider it a good bargain. Besides, you’ve been very helpful to me in certain situations. It’s my way of saying thank you.”
“That’s very generous. Almost too generous.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be doing me a favor. I have plans to travel, and knowing you’re here will be one less thing for me to have managed while I’m gone.”
“Where are you off to?”
“To visit my niece and nephew in South America.”
“My. That will be a journey.”
“Yes, so if you agree to take this flat, then I only have to coordinate the management of the other.”
“In that case—yes, I’ll take it.”
I left the South Regent Mansions practically waltzing down the steps. Even the cold wind that cut across my cheeks couldn’t sap my joy. I felt as if a weight had lifted. I had a home!
The furniture stayed. They were good, serviceable pieces. Nothing flashy or trendy, and I imagined they’d probably been moved out of one of Sebastian’s many homes. I was to return in two days with a deposit, sign the paperwork, and pick up the key. I was almost giddy with my good fortune. I couldn’t wait to tell Jasper. Especially the part about being trouble-free.
I hopped on a bus and rode to Trafalgar Square. I made my way through the fountains, scattering pigeons as I crossed in front of the National Gallery on my way to the theater where Boggs was rehearsing for his play.
Mathis Theater was fronted with five doors that would be thrown open to admit theatergoers. One door was cracked, and I slipped through it into the dim foyer. Straight ahead, more doors led to the stalls, while a heavy oak staircase swept up on the right over the box office to the gallery. A woman was hoovering the carpet. She switched off the vacuum when I stepped inside. “I’m here to see Mr. Boggs.”
She jerked her head toward the staircase. “He said a young woman might ask for him today. He’s upstairs.”
She resumed hoovering as I climbed the curving staircase. Once I reached the gallery level, I found two men in a walkway behind the last row of seats. They wore feathered tricorn hats and hip-length coats with velvet lapels. They shuffled back and forth, arms extended. The rapiers they held clattered against each other as they parried each other’s moves.
“It will work much better if you move to the left . . .” Despite the elaborate costume, I recognized Boggs. He broke off and relaxed his stance when he saw me. He said something to his fencing partner, who tipped his hat to me as he brushed by on his way to the stairs.
Boggs removed his hat, revealing a wig of dark curls that swung around his shoulders as he executed a deep bow. “Greetings, Miss Belgrave. Thank you for coming here to the theater.”
“You’re welcome. It looks quite busy.” I glanced at the stage, where a man in street clothes was arranging a group of about fifteen actors, directing them on where to stand. “Congratulations on the new role. The Pirates of Penzance?”
“Yes, and thank you. Let’s have a seat. It’s quieter up here.” He gestured toward the rows of seats overlooking the stage. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to leave, or we could go out for a sandwich or a cup of tea.”
I pushed down the red velvet seat. “This is perfectly all right.”
He reached into the deep cuff of his costume and brought out a piece of paper, which he handed to me. “You’ll find all the details on the servants from Alton House there.”
I unfolded the page and skimmed it. “I didn’t think I’d hear back from you so soon.”
“I visited a few pubs and was able to track down some chaps who are in service at Alton House. Had a very productive chat. Then I bought a couple of pints for the servants of a neighboring house. Would you like a summary?”
“Yes, please.” I tucked his notes away in my handbag.
“The lady’s maid, Mrs. Dowd, has been employed with the dowager for fourteen years. She hails from a little village called Danford in Surrey. She has no relatives and no other connections as far as I could make out. She’s known to be fiercely loyal and a bit of a Tartar.”
“I would certainly agree with that.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have as much information about Stella Barstow.”
I told him the sad news about Stella, and he let out a low whistle. “What a tragic ending to a short life.”
“Yes, I know.”
We both sat in silence for a moment, then Boggs stirred. “Well, what little I found out about Stella is that her father was a dockworker, but he died three years ago. She has three older sisters, all in service in different houses around London. I couldn’t find much more about her.”
“Any questionable rumors about her?”
“Of what sor
t?”
“That she was light-fingered or less than honest?”
“No, I didn’t hear anything like that.”
“And Clara?”
He recounted the same details I’d already heard—that Clara came from a small village near where the dowager had resided, and that she was a distant relative of the Alton family. Boggs adjusted the feather in his hat as he added, “The only additional thing I heard was that she worked during the War in the hospital, doing the washing up, then moved up to be a mechanic at one of the airfields. Apparently, she’s quite proud of that fact and likes to talk about it.” He lifted his hat to resettle it on his head, then stopped. “Oh, and she and the chauffeur from Alton House are quite friendly.”
“Really?” I hadn’t heard a hint of that—or seen any indication of it.
“Word is, she sometimes visits old Benson in the mews.”
“Well. I would have never imagined that. I guess I’ll have to make the acquaintance of the chauffeur. Benson, you said?” The chauffeur had driven us to Grafton Galleries, but I didn’t remember much about him, except that he was rather stout.
“That’s right. Bit of a lush, apparently, when he’s off duty—”
A hubbub from the stage drew our attention. The actors moved toward the wings as the man in street clothes rotated to the theater and shaded his eyes against the lights. “Boggs? Hardy? Let’s run through your scene.”
Boggs stood and put on his hat. “That’s my cue.”
“Break a leg. I’ll try to come see you,” I said and proceeded him down the stairs. In the lobby, the woman with the hoover was gone. I patted my handbag. “Thank you for the information. I’ll post you a payment for your help.”
“Much obliged. Always a pleasure to do business with you, Miss Belgrave.”
I went to the door to the street, then turned back. “Oh, Boggs?”
He was already in the theater, but he poked his head back into the lobby. “Yes, Miss Belgrave?”
“You don’t, by chance, want a parrot? It would be just the thing for your costume.”