Murder at the Tea Party: 1920s Historical Cozy Mystery (An Evie Parker Mystery)

by Sonia Parin

  Evie nodded. “I remember hearing mention of it. It’s famous for something. It will come to me.”

  “No need to strain yourself, Evangeline. Everett’s greenhouse is famous for growing succulent pineapples. I believe his family first introduced them back in the 1800s.”

  “We were by no means the first to introduce them to England,” Everett said.

  “No, but you were one of the first we knew of,” Henrietta said. “It was quite extravagant. I remember attending my first dinner party and being in awe of the centerpiece which had included a pineapple sourced from Bradley Park.”

  Everett smiled. “One of my astute ancestors caught onto the lucrative business of renting them out as a table decoration. Nowadays, they are imported. While they are far too costly to grow, we still manage it.”

  Evie kept her eyes peeled on any shared looks between Henrietta and Sara. So far, neither one had mentioned the rumors flying around.

  “Evangeline. The funeral date has been set,” Henrietta announced.

  So much for avoiding the subject.

  “Edward Howard-Smith is devastated by his loss,” Henrietta continued. “He was a devoted husband.”

  “Were there any children?” Evie asked.

  “No, thank goodness for that. One must be pragmatic. He shouldn’t have any trouble finding a new wife. In fact, I’m sure there’ll be quite a few prospective brides lined up at the funeral.” Glancing over at Phillipa, the dowager added, “If your guest is still here, she might want to attend the service.”

  “I get the feeling she’s not quite ready to settle down yet,” Evie said. At a signal from Edgar, she invited everyone to proceed through to the dining room.

  “Of course, you needn’t bother to present yourself as a candidate,” Henrietta observed. “I believe the family is quite stringent when it comes to scandal. They will not abide it. And it might be some time before you can shake off the stigma of being labeled a poisoner.”

  As Sara strode on ahead, she murmured, “I thought you were not going to bring that up, mama.”

  “But everyone is talking about it,” Henrietta defended. “It seems silly to avoid the subject.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Evie took her place at the table and turned her attention to the centerpiece display, giving Edgar a nod of approval.

  “The doctor has met with the family and he has given them the unfortunate news. Mrs. Howard-Smith died of a heart attack but there are suspicious circumstances as suggested by the presence of the police at Witford Hall.”

  Evie exchanged a look with Tom. They certainly hadn’t heard about this. “When did this happen?”

  “A short while ago. I had been about to set off when I saw Dr. Browning’s wife rushing toward the vicarage. I waited several minutes and then I sent my butler over to make inquiries. He returned with the news conveyed to him by the Vicar’s maid.” Henrietta gave a knowing nod. “Yes, the maid is rather sweet on my butler. In fact, he has several admirers, which bodes well for me as we are kept well-informed by young maids wishing to ingratiate themselves with him.”

  Evie tried to sort the information out in her mind. The doctor had been at Witford Hall when the police had arrived. He must have then passed on the information to his wife who had rushed off to the vicarage.

  Evie took a small sip of wine and went through it all again. Finally, she said, “The police went to inform the family they are treating Mrs. Howard-Smith’s death as suspicious but the doctor had thought she had died of natural causes. That doesn’t quite make sense.”

  “Oh, I think you might be right,” Henrietta agreed. “Or the information might have been tampered with. However, this does not change the facts. There are suspicious circumstances.”

  Yes, they had already known that, but the information had been based on unsubstantiated rumors.

  Evie took another sip of wine. “And why exactly is the finger of suspicion being pointed at me?”

  “Everyone knows you had her over for tea,” Henrietta said. “In another era, you might have been accused of witchcraft.”

  “How comforting.” Evie turned her attention to the food arranged on her plate. The conversation switched back to pineapples and she heard Everett Townsend mention something about the Dutch being the first to cultivate it and introduce it to England where it had first appeared at Hampton Court in 1692. Although, the first true crop of British pineapples had been grown in the 1700s in Richmond.

  Everett Townsend seemed to be very knowledgeable on the subject. So much so, Evie realized she couldn’t stake a claim on any particular subject. She decided to remedy the lapse as soon as she could find a subject worth pursuing.

  She concluded her train of thought by wondering how this lack of knowledge reflected on her. Had no one ever encouraged her to take an interest?

  Halton House contained a vast library. Evie sat up. There had to be something in there to engage her interest. She would begin her search the next day.

  Leaning forward, Evie caught Henrietta’s attention. “I still don’t quite understand. If the doctor reached one conclusion, how did the police become involved?”

  “Perhaps the family is not satisfied with the doctor’s diagnosis,” Everett suggested. “I believe the Earl of Rosenthal would be influential enough to have the matter looked into.”

  “Yes, but why wouldn’t he accept the conclusion of death by natural causes?” Evie insisted. Surely, it couldn’t be a case of living in denial, she thought.

  Her eyes landed on Tom who said, “The police must have a solid reason for looking into the death. No amount of influence would sway them to allocate manpower to a lost cause.”

  Evie looked toward the door. If the police wished to speak with her, they would surely wait until morning…

  “When is the funeral?” Evie asked.

  “In three days’ time,” Henrietta said. “I took the liberty of sending a letter of condolence. Also, I propose organizing a somewhat daring expression of our sympathies… extended to the committee ladies.”

  Chapter Nine

  Speculative motives anyone?

  Halton House library

  “If anyone catches me dangling off the ladder, I will simply say there’s method in my madness.” Evie had hurried through an early breakfast and had then gone directly to the library where she’d perused the shelves at eye level.

  Most of the leather-bound tomes within easy reach were about animal husbandry and farming and many had bookmarks sticking out of them suggesting someone had made serious study of them over the years.

  Standing on tiptoes, she had perused the next shelves up, which had contained history books with an entire row devoted to the Napoleonic wars. She had sought out the assistance of a footstool to reach the next shelves only to find more history books, mostly focused on kings and queens.

  She had then progressed onto the ladder, each rung putting her at eye level with a new shelf. As she finished scrutinizing the book spines, she tilted her head from side to side and spied an interesting title… at the far end. By this point, she had climbed up and down the ladder several times.

  “Who knew the pursuit of knowledge would require so much physical activity.” Thinking she could reach the book from where she stood, she gripped the edge of the ladder and stretched her other hand out as far as she could.

  That’s when the ladder began tilting.

  Evie reacted swiftly by straightening and plastering herself against the ladder. She should have known better than to try to reach the book again. Anyone with common sense would not have tried it again. But… try again she did.

  On her second attempt, she managed to grab hold of the book, or perhaps the book grabbed hold of her.

  This time, the ladder didn’t give her a warning. When she stretched, it followed her.

  Her reflexes kicked in and she managed to grab a foothold on the edge of a shelf. When Tom strode into the library, he found Evie trying to balance one foot on the
bookcase and the other on the ladder.

  “Do you need help?” he asked, his tone casual.

  Evie tried to speak through gritted teeth but only managed a growl.

  “I’ll hold the ladder. Do you think you could try to get back onto it?”

  “The book,” Evie managed. So close, she thought and decided to release it and get back to safety. However, her finger caught and as she moved back to the ladder, the book slid off and landed with a thud. “Oh, I hope I haven’t damaged it.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Tom muttered. “My head broke its fall.”

  Evie looked down and saw Tom clutching his head and then rubbing at a sore spot. “I thought you said you were holding the ladder.” She managed to straighten, getting both feet back in place. Taking the greatest care, she climbed down and reached the safety of the floor just as Tom crouched down to pick up the thick volume.

  “Introduction to Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud. Dare I ask?”

  Evie lifted her chin. “I’m taking my mind off… I’m taking an interest.”

  Tom opened the book and read through the contents. “Freudian slip. That sounds intriguing.”

  Shifting the ladder, Evie climbed back up and found the spot where the book had been shelved. There were several more like it. She drew one out. A quick look inside the cover page told her it had been published only a couple of years before.

  Halton House employed a librarian who came in once a week. She would have to ask him if he had made the purchase. She couldn’t remember Nicholas ever showing an interest in the inner workings of the human mind.

  Selecting another book, she made her way down. “I think I will start with this one.”

  Taking the book from her, Tom flipped through the pages. Stopping, he read, “Taboo and emotional ambivalence.” Taking a step back, he sunk down on a chair and began reading.

  “Would you mind finding another book? That’s the one I wish to read.”

  Tom signaled to the one that had fallen on his head. “Start with that one. This one has captured my interest.”

  “Yes, well… These books are meant to engage my interest, not yours.” Nevertheless, she settled down with the other book.

  Half an hour later, Tom said, “Interesting. He talks about neurotics feeling ambivalent about most people in their lives. It’s not something they admit consciously to themselves. While they might love their mother, there are things about her they hate.” He closed the book and stared at Evie. “What are you feeling ambivalent about?”

  “No one. Nothing,” Evie answered far too quickly and then admitted she loved everyone she met but she had developed a severe dislike of gossip mongers.

  Taking the book from Tom, she scanned through the list of contents and asked, “How did you get on with Phillipa last night?”

  Smiling, he said, “She reminded me of a horse, champing at the bit, eager for something to happen.” Leaning back on his chair, he crossed his arms and remarked. “You were slightly on edge last night.”

  She had tried her best to hide it. “I get the feeling there are people gunning for me. I also believe I haven’t given them any reason to dislike me. Not yet.” She shifted her gaze to the window and rested her eyes on the scenery. When she had first come to live at Halton House, she had been too involved in her marriage to really appreciate her surroundings. Without realizing it, the peacefulness had been her saving grace, keeping her well-grounded. “I should feel only too happy to assist the police with their inquiries but I do hope I won’t have to defend myself.”

  “If the police do come to question you, think of it as an opportunity to get information.” He glanced at the book Evie held. “So, is there something behind this sudden interest in the subject of psychoanalysis?”

  The door to the library opened and Edgar announced, “Detective Inspector O’Neill.”

  Tom’s eyebrow curved up. “They sent the big guns.”

  “Lady Woodridge.” The inspector strode up to her, his hand extended. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  Evie couldn’t remember being given the choice. She introduced Tom and gestured toward a group of chairs by the window. The detective wore a spiffy suit suggesting he hailed from the city rather than the nearby town of Reading. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  “I trust you have heard the news about Mrs. Howard-Smith.”

  There had been far too much talk about it for Evie to even attempt to convey an impression of vagueness. Evie gave a nod of acknowledgement. “We have also become aware of the police becoming involved.” No pleading ignorance from here on out, Evie thought.

  “Yes,” the detective mused, “Mrs. Howard-Smith’s family asked for a second opinion.” The detective drew out a small pocket book and took his time searching for the right page. “It is our understanding Mrs. Howard-Smith met with you recently.”

  Evie explained she had met the woman for the first time in the village and had then had afternoon tea with her.

  “So, you formed an instant friendship.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Evie remarked.

  “Then, may I ask why you invited her to tea?”

  Evie tried to keep her gaze on the detective but it became a struggle. When she lost the battle, she shifted slightly in her chair and looked at Tom just as he set his mouth into a firm line and gave a small shake of his head.

  “I wanted to discuss something with her.”

  The detective asked, “The Hunt Ball?”

  “Yes.” How had he found out? Had the renegade committee sold her out?

  “Several people have mentioned you were not happy about the new arrangements,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that. Although, after I became aware of a few details I did think it odd that a group of women should abscond with a ball which had been established by the Woodridge family. I wanted to try and reason with Mrs. Howard-Smith.”

  Surprise registered in the detective’s eyes.

  Tom gave another slight shake of his head as if to suggest she’d said too much.

  “Do you garden, Lady Woodridge?”

  “No, not really.” Evie’s gaze drifted to the garden beyond the window. Since seeing the beautiful blooms at Hollyhock Farm, she had subconsciously been thinking about it… “I’ve been meaning to take up an interest. So, I suppose I’ve been thinking about it. Why do you ask?”

  Instead of answering, he asked, “How long did Mrs. Howard-Smith stay?”

  “Not very long. She became agitated and cut the afternoon tea short.”

  Tom gave another shake of his head, which Evie ignored.

  “Mrs. Howard-Smith took exception to something I said,” she continued. “Don’t ask me what because I still don’t quite know myself. She left in a huff. The next morning, I learned of her demise. And, before you ask, she didn’t show any signs of illness. In fact, she’d looked fighting fit. In every sense.”

  “Did she give any indication of where she might have been headed next?”

  “None. Why would she tell me? She only said she had been running late because her committee meeting had run overtime.”

  Tapping his notebook, the detective persevered, “Did you happen to see in which direction she headed?”

  “No, I… I didn’t show her out. In fact, it took me a few minutes to recover from the encounter. Her manner had been unjustifiably brusque.”

  The detective turned toward Tom. “Mr. Winchester is it?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Can you account for your whereabouts during the last forty-eight hours?”

  When Tom finished supplying the information, Evie realized he’d left out a pertinent detail.

  The detective looked at his notes. “When exactly did you arrive at Halton?”

  “Late in the evening. You can check with the local pub.”

  Turning to Evie, the detective smiled. “I don’t seem to have your time of arrival.”

  “At about the same time as Mr. Winchester.
I can’t say for sure, I was rather tired and went straight to bed.”

  “You have a guest staying with you,” the detective said.

  How had that piece of news reached him? “Yes. Miss Phillipa Brady. Her car broke down near here.”

  “I would like to speak with her, please.”

  How had the detective found out about Phillipa? More importantly, should she be worried about her? Evie only knew what Phillipa had chosen to tell them. What if they had been harboring a criminal?

  Chapter Ten

  If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all…

  “Someone killed her and they’re trying to pin it on me.”

  “You brought me out here to tell me that?” Tom asked.

  Evie swung around. “Trees don’t tell tales.” A sheep bleated in the distance. “Who knows what that sheep is saying, but I’m sure she’s not implying I poisoned my guest.”

  “Out of curiosity, what made you say poison?”

  “When did I mention poison?” She gave a shake of her head. “Never mind. These last couple of days have become a haze. In any case, isn’t poison a woman’s weapon of choice?” Evie shrugged. “I think I read that somewhere or maybe I heard Henrietta say it. She loves reading mysteries.” Looking over his shoulder, she said, “The detective is leaving.”

  “I guess that means Phillipa is in the clear,” Tom remarked.

  “Why wouldn’t she be in the clear?”

  Tom shrugged. “What do we really know about her? She appeared from out of nowhere. Somehow, she ended up on your doorstep and she is now a guest at your house. Do you know anyone who can vouch for her?”

  A valid point, Evie thought. She hadn’t asked about the friends Phillipa planned on joining…

  They both stood there on the hill watching the detective getting into his car and driving off. Moments later, Phillipa emerged from the library by way of one of the French doors. After a look around, she spotted them and headed their way.