I was sorely tempted to follow at her heels, intent on barging in on Mrs. Ross whether she was receiving or not. Mrs. Peake seemed to feel the same urge, for she set a foot on the bottom step and hesitated before removing it and turning away.
“That woman,” she murmured. “What I wouldn’t like to say to her.” Unlike during our quiet walk into town earlier, Mrs. Peake had made her sentiments quite clear on the trolley on the way here. She had borne witness to Eugenia Ross’s harassment of the King family these many years and believed the woman to be unbalanced.
“Please don’t,” I said in response to her verbal musings. “We’re here to retrieve Olivia’s brooch. We don’t want to antagonize Mrs. Ross if we can help it.”
“Hmph. I can’t understand what she would want with a piece of jewelry from the family of a housemaid.”
“I have a hunch about that, but we’ll have to wait and see.”
Louise Peake flashed me a quizzical look. At the same time, the landlady started down the stairs toward us. “Mrs. Ross will see you. She’s very curious as to why you’ve come.”
If she added that last comment in hopes that we might enlighten her as well, I’m afraid we disappointed her. We thanked her and continued upstairs. Mrs. Ross awaited us at the open door to her rooms.
“Well, well. You’re back.” She frowned at my companion. “Louise Peake. Have you brought a message from Mrs. King? Is she ready to listen to reason?”
“Mrs. King has no notion that I’m here.”
“How odd. Well, come in and have a seat, both of you. And tell me how I might help you.”
Her amiable mood puzzled me, especially after our last encounter in this very parlor. I commented on how cheerful she appeared.
“Why, yes, thank you for noticing, Miss Cross. Oh, I’m sorry. Shall I ring my landlady for tea?”
“No, thank you,” I said, even as Mrs. Peake wrinkled her nose at the very notion of accepting hospitality from her employer’s nemesis.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m in so pleased a mood today.” When I nodded, she smiled broadly. “Word has just reached me that the date for the new hearing about my inheritance has been confirmed.” She cast a triumphant look at Mrs. Peake. “Come September, all my troubles will be over.”
“There have been hearings before, and your suit has always been denied,” Mrs. Peake said bluntly. “What makes you think this one will turn out any different?”
“I’m ever the optimist, Mrs. Peake.” She beamed at us in triumph, and I had my answer about why she had agreed to see us today: to gloat. “But do tell me, what has brought you here? I’m so very curious.”
“We’ve just come from a jeweler in town.” I met her brilliant smile with one of my own. “Charles Wilmont, Esquire.”
“And that should mean what to me?” Despite her words, her eyes sparked and her cheeks, already rouged, turned pinker.
“We were inquiring about an item. A brooch. It consists of a cameo surrounded by seed pearls. Apparently, you purchased it.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?” Mrs. Peake might as well have been challenging the other woman to a duel, for all the warmth in her voice.
Eugenia Ross hesitated, sizing the two of us up. Then she shrugged. “What difference does it make if you know? Yes, I purchased a brooch of that description. Why shouldn’t I have?”
“Isaiah Baldwin had just sold the brooch to the jeweler, not that he had any right to do so,” I said. “How did you know to go and buy it, and why would you?”
“If I said it was all merely a coincidence, I don’t suppose you’d believe me.” The idea amused her, and she let out a chuckle.
Mrs. Peake held her features utterly steady. “No, we would not.”
Again, Mrs. Ross shrugged. “I suppose there’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you. I understood the brooch came from Kingscote. And since Kingscote should be mine, anything that originates there should be mine as well.”
I gathered my brows together. “You must have been talking to Mr. Baldwin, then, for you to have known when and where he sold the item. Was he helping you with information about the family and house?”
“Perhaps. That matter is really none of your business.”
“Perhaps it’s the police’s business,” Mrs. Peake said in clear warning. “Perhaps we should refer the matter to them.”
“Perhaps you should.” Mrs. Ross seemed undaunted by the prospect. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I merely purchased an item from a jewelry store. How they came by it is none of my concern.”
My frown persisted. It wasn’t one of perplexity, but of concentration. “You believed—that is, Baldwin led you to believe—that the brooch belonged to Mrs. King. Isn’t that true?”
For the first time, her confidence slipped. “What do you mean, led me to believe?”
“Did you pay a great deal for it?” I asked rather than answered her question.
“No. A trifle, really. It was the sentimental value I wanted it for.”
“Then I’d like to buy it back from you now.”
Her gaze became stormy. “Tell me what you meant first.”
“I believe Baldwin led you to believe he stole the brooch from Mrs. King, and as such, you believed you had a right to it. But he didn’t. He took it from the housemaid. A young woman with no personal tie to the King family.”
“The housemaid?” She pronounced the word with the utmost disdain. And shock. My hunch had been correct.
“Yes, Mrs. King’s housemaid.” It was Mrs. Peake’s turn to grin. “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t believe Miss Riley’s story at first. I thought she might have stolen the brooch from Mrs. King. But no, the thief was Baldwin all along. I’m afraid you spent your good money on something with no meaning for Mrs. King.”
Mrs. Ross jumped up from her seat. I braced, believing she would order us out of her parlor. Instead, she went into the bedroom, just as she had done when I’d asked her where she had been the night Isaiah Baldwin had been struck by the automobile. Instead of an opera ticket, she returned holding an item that filled the palm of her hand. She held it out to me.
“Is this your old brooch?”
Though I had never seen the piece before, it fit the description Miss Riley had given. I nodded. “How much do you want for it?”
“Only what I paid for it.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “I don’t want to ever see it again.”
She told me the amount, and I opened my drawstring bag. Mrs. Peake came to her feet, her own bag already open. “Let me, Miss Cross. I feel I owe Olivia recompense for the way I accused her.” She dug out the small purse inside. She placed the correct amount in Mrs. Ross’s hand.
That woman made a show of recounting the money before handing Mrs. Peake the brooch. “He was a cheat and a liar, that Isaiah Baldwin.”
I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “Why didn’t he simply sell the brooch directly to you?”
“To vex me. I’d done him a favor or two, and he repaid me with disloyalty and deceit.”
Mrs. Peake looked up from studying the brooch. “What kind of favors?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
Mrs. Peake’s eyes narrowed. “His references, I’ll wager. You probably forged them for him. Forgery is against the law, Mrs. Ross. Should I happen to bring those references to the police, they might wish to do a comparison with your handwriting. And then you could find yourself with an illegal link to a murdered man. The police would find that most interesting.”
“You have your worthless brooch back. Take it and go.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right.” I touched Mrs. Peake’s wrist, beckoning her to follow me to the door. On the threshold, I stopped and turned back to Mrs. Ross. “By the way, I paid a visit to the Opera House. Your torn ticket doesn’t mean you entered the building at the start of the performance. You might have stolen in during the intermission. Or you might have left early. I’m afraid you don’t have much of an alibi, unless you can produce s
omeone who can vouch for your presence in the theater during the exact time frame in which Baldwin was struck. Good day to you, Mrs. Ross.”
Mrs. Peake conjured her first genuine smile of the visit. “Yes. Good day, Mrs. Ross.”
Chapter 16
Once we exited the trolley near the Newport Casino, I accompanied Mrs. Peake back to Kingscote to collect my horse and carriage. She had been noticeably chattier on the way back from Mrs. Ross’s apartment. The confrontation, as well as recovering the brooch, seemed to have raised the housekeeper’s spirits considerably.
They plunged minutes later, along with my own.
Kingscote’s circular drive played host to several vehicles, including the ambulance wagon. Several uniformed policemen were scattered about the property. As Mrs. Peake and I hurried along the last dozen yards to the house, I spotted Jesse walking around the northwestern edge of the property toward the carriage house and stables.
With trepidation dragging at each step I took, I approached one of the blue-clad officers. “What’s happened?”
He appeared about to brush me off when he recognized me. “Another murder, Miss Cross. One of the footmen.”
“Oh no. Which one?” Mrs. Peake’s shrill question made me jump. I hadn’t realized she had followed me, much less so closely. Nor could I have imagined the high-pitched shriek coming from her lips. It made no difference to the officer. He waved the question away and hurried off.
“It was Clarence Dole.” The somber voice came from behind us, and I pivoted to see Ethan looking grim and devoid of color.
“Clarence.” Mrs. Peake went as white as the lace collar on her dress.
“Good heavens, Ethan.” I grasped Mrs. Peake’s arm when she let out a tremulous breath and appeared to wobble. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Ethan shook his head, his features tight. “The police haven’t said much yet. But Clarence was found in the laundry yard.”
“By whom?”
“Olivia. She’s being questioned now.”
A half dozen questions sprang to my mind, among them whether or not Olivia was a suspect, but I realized Ethan likely wouldn’t have the answers. “Where is Mrs. King?”
“Upstairs, I believe.” Ethan gestured up at the second floor. “In her room.”
I led Mrs. Peake into the house and gently nudged her toward the staircase. “Come. Let’s go up. Mrs. King will need you.” Perhaps not as much as Mrs. Peake needed her, I thought.
“He was only nineteen.” Her voice trembled and wavered. “That’s too young to have done anyone any harm. Who would hurt him?”
“I wish I knew, Mrs. Peake.”
As we reached the top of the stairs, Mrs. King came from down the corridor that led to her bedroom and crossed the gallery to us. “Oh, Louise. It’s horrible. I feel as though Kingscote is cursed.”
The two women embraced. Their arms around each other, they disappeared back down the corridor. I had apparently been forgotten, but I didn’t let it bother me. Assured they had each other, I turned to descend the staircase. I paused once to wonder where Gwendolen was. I also wondered about Philip. Was he still locked in his room? I quietly crossed the gallery to Philip’s door and knocked softly. “Mr. King, are you there?”
“Who is that?” came his reply from the other side.
“It’s Emma Cross.”
“What the blazes is happening out there, Miss Cross? No one ever tells me anything. I’m stuck up here, locked away, and I could die, for all anyone cares.”
Despite his petulant tone, I sympathized with his frustrations. And with his fears, as he must surely have been entertaining many. People dying at Kingscote had become an all-too-real occurrence, and I couldn’t blame him for feeling trapped and vulnerable. “It’s one of the footmen,” I told him. “Clarence. It appears he’s deceased, Mr. King.”
“Clarence?” Philip King swore, just loud enough for me to hear. “What happened?”
I hesitated before saying, “He was murdered.”
“Good God. Have they caught the killer?”
“I don’t know anything yet, Mr. King. I’d only just arrived at the house to see all the commotion. Tell me, did you hear anything?” I tried to picture which part of the property his room overlooked. “Or perhaps see anything outside your windows?”
“I was asleep until I heard shouting coming from somewhere behind the house. Is that where they found him—outside, in the rear gardens?”
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“What was Clarence doing outside at this time of day?”
“I can’t answer that. Yet,” I added. But if I discovered anything, would I return to inform young Philip? Could he be trusted? A sudden impulse sent my hand to the doorknob. I thought to try it, to see if his door was indeed locked. I remembered his being drunk recently during his confinement. For all anyone knew, Philip had a hidden key to his door and could let himself out anytime he wished. Had he killed Clarence?
I touched my fingertips to the knob. It moved slightly side to side as if loose, but it didn’t turn.
“Miss Cross? Are you still there?”
“I am, but I’m going now to see what I can find out.”
“Promise me you’ll come back and tell me everything.”
I again hesitated, then said, “That will be for the police to decide.” I hurried away before he could plead with me.
Upon returning to the front of the house, I came upon Jesse. Two policemen came around the corner, carrying the cloth-covered body on a stretcher. The coroner followed them and directed them to the ambulance.
“Cause of death was drowning in a barrel of rainwater collected for the washing of clothes,” Jesse told me succinctly, not bothering to soften his words. In the next instant, he looked contrite. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way.”
“Nonsense.” I waved away his apology. The pair of us watched the men slide the stretcher into the back of the ambulance wagon. “Philip told me he heard shouting from the rear lawn. And Ethan told me Miss Riley found the body.”
“That’s right, and those were her screams Philip heard. She had gone out to collect bedding hanging on the lines. Clarence was bent over, his head submerged in the water. Must have been held down.”
“Ethan said she was being questioned. Do you suspect her?”
“Hard to say.” He let out a breath. “She’s terribly shaken, believably so. It was difficult for her to give a statement.”
“And she didn’t see anyone leaving the vicinity of the laundry yard?”
He shot me an ironic look. “There are times I wish I could hire you on, you’re that adept at thinking like a policeman. But no, she saw no one. And before you ask, no, there are no identifiable footprints. The ground all around the barrel is too muddy and churned up. It looks as though our culprit made an effort to kick up the mud and grass enough that we can’t get a conclusive print.”
“Not even size?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “And we’ve checked everyone’s shoes for mud. What’s especially odd is that there is no mud tracked across the lawn, either. As if the killer cleaned his shoes before making his getaway.”
“And no one else saw anything at all? No one even saw Clarence go outside?”
“Not that anyone is admitting.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I say it like that. The cook and her assistant were shopping in town. Mrs. Peake was out—”
“With me,” I informed him. He looked puzzled, but continued with the whereabouts of each servant.
“Miss Riley says she was changing linens in the bedrooms, until she went outside herself. And Martin, the other footman, claims he was in the service room polishing silver. The groom, of course, was caring for the horses.”
“You’re certain?”
Jesse didn’t hesitate. “The man has been with the Kings for years, like Mrs. Peake. They trust him completely. Besides, he has a solid alibi for the night Baldwin was struck with the motorcar. I firmly believe w
hoever killed the butler also killed this footman.”
“What about Ethan?”
“He was in his pantry at the time, putting together a schedule for the next day’s chores, so he can’t vouch for the others. Surely if one of the servants witnessed something, they’d say so. I can’t imagine any of them wanting to see a murderer go free.”
“Not unless one of them is the murderer. Olivia Riley claims to have found Clarence already drowned. She could be lying. She could also have wiped off her shoes before she screamed.” I didn’t know where the accusations came from. I certainly didn’t wish for the mother of a young child to be guilty.
“Yes, she could have,” Jesse agreed. “But could she have overpowered a grown man?”
“Maids are stronger than they look. They have to be. Besides, do you know yet whether Clarence might have been struck on the head and rendered unconscious?” He had acknowledged my first point with a nod, and now shook his head at my question. We both fell to thinking. Another name hovered in my mind and prickled the back of my neck. “Are you certain Philip can’t get out of his room?”
Jesse shrugged. “Not entirely, no. For all I know, there are secret passages from one room to another.” He made a weary face. “Not that I believe that, mind you. Mrs. King assures me there is only one way out of Philip’s room, and that’s the door to the hallway. He can’t get out unless he has a key we don’t know about.”
I spoke nearly those same words at the same time he did. We studied each other. “Or he is able to pick the lock,” I added. “His room is closest to the back stairs. Could Philip have sneaked down those stairs, lured Clarence into the laundry yard, murdered him, and made his way back up without being seen?”
“Seeing as how the others were occupied or not in the house, it’s possible. Not to mention if anyone could lure the footman anywhere, it would be a member of the family. Clarence wouldn’t have dared to refuse him.”
“When were you called?” I finally thought to ask.
“About a half hour ago.”
“Then one person it couldn’t be is Eugenia Ross,” I mused aloud. “I’ve just been to see her. That’s where Mrs. Peake and I went. Among Baldwin’s things, she and Clarence had found a receipt for Olivia’s brooch, which he sold to a jeweler in town. Mrs. Ross purchased it thinking Baldwin stole it from Mrs. King. In a kind of twisted logic, she believed the piece to be rightfully hers. She was most unhappy when we informed her it wasn’t Mrs. King’s, but Olivia’s. She even agreed to sell it back to us.”
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