Death Among Rubies (16 page)

Yes, Gwen’s friend. But what about Sir Calleford’s?

“You make a good point. But if you don’t mind some advice, Mr. Blake, I’d keep your secret engagement just that—secret. Anyway, you’re fortunate in that the local man, Inspector Bedlow, seems to think an outside gang is responsible.”

“Bedlow,” said Christopher sourly. “He’s completely out of his depth. His limit is tracking down poachers.”

“Then why doesn’t your chief constable call in more experienced detectives from Scotland Yard?”

“I can see that you haven’t spent a lot of time in the country. The gentry here—and that includes the chief constable—is a tight-knit bunch. No one wants strangers from London poking their noses into county business, even when there’s a murder to solve. Things will have to get much worse for that to happen. We have influence here, especially Mother as the lady of the house, and right now the preference is to keep things local. Meanwhile, the chief constable asks all the guests to remain. I don’t know why—the police have questioned everyone.”

Because the chief constable knows that one of the guests may have committed the murder
, thought Frances,
even though no one wants to say it
. As Christopher said, things would have to get much worse.

“Say, Lady Frances, I don’t suppose you could have a go at the chief constable the way you did at Mr. Small? If anyone can convince him, you can.” His look was so engaging in that handsome face, that Frances was inclined to think that Kestrel’s Eyrie wasn’t the only reason Effie wanted to marry him.

“It may come to that yet, Mr. Blake. Enjoy your walk—I have things to do.”

Actually, it wouldn’t come to that. She didn’t need Inspector Bedlow and she didn’t need the chief constable. She started walking back to the house, and came across Effie Hardiman.

“Why, Lady Frances, were you just out by the stables? Dad and I are going for a walk with Christopher—that is, Mr. Blake. You can join us, I’m sure. Dad will be along in a moment.”

“Thank you, but I have previous appointments. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your walk. You seem to really appreciate this house, this estate.”

“Oh, I do!” She turned, and looked at the Elizabethan masterpiece. Even from the rear, it was grand and imposing. The two women took in the house together in silence. Miss Hardiman, it was clear, was imagining herself in the great hall, presiding over a ball. But Frances just got a chill.

“Would your father do anything for you, Lady Frances? Mine would do anything for me, I know, and if you can keep a secret, just between us girls, I’m going to ask him to get me this. Miss Kestrel doesn’t seem to want it, but oh, I do.”

“What if he can’t get it for you?” asked Frances quietly.

“But of course he can,” said Miss Hardiman, as if Frances had said something silly. “He’s gotten everything he ever wanted, and if we want the Eyrie, we’ll have that too. Good day, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

She marched off to the stables.
Well
, thought Frances,
that explained why Miss Hardiman was in no rush to leave and there were no complaints about having to stay. Her father would do anything for her. And she wanted nothing more than the Eyrie. Sir Calleford was the only possible hindrance—and now he was dead. Effie Hardiman and Phoebe Blake—two women who were both strong and strong-willed. They would both bear consideration.

F
rances found Tommie in her room.

“I encouraged Gwen to lie down again, and she’s having a good sleep, so she’ll be fresh for dinner. How did it go with Mr. Small? I bet he was horrified to see you there as a solicitor’s clerk.”

“I’m sure I created a scandal. They’ll be talking about the ‘lady clerk’ all winter. Anyway, the books were in order, as far as we could tell. There was an odd payment to Mrs. Sweet—we met her at the funeral—but maybe it was just some quiet charity. I’ll speak with her later. Meanwhile, I also had a frank talk with Mrs. Blake.”

She summarized the talk, and Tommie nodded solemnly.

“I suppose, from Mrs. Blake’s viewpoint, it would be the best thing. This house needs a mistress, and Gwen can’t . . .” she bit her lip, and couldn’t go on.

“But wait—this story has a sequel. There is a woman who very much does want to become mistress, and I think she’ll do anything to get there . . .”

Tommie cheered up as the story went on. “But that’s wonderful. Miss Hardiman will become the new Mrs. Blake and I know I speak for Gwen when I say they’re welcome to this place.”

Sweet Tommie
, thought Frances.
She always thinks the best of people. And I always think the worst.

“Tommie. A man was murdered here. And you’ve been threatened twice. This arrangement is much more likely to go through without Sir Calleford. And if someone thought you might have too much influence over Gwen, they might have reason to threaten you.”

“But Franny, you can’t mean Miss Hardiman would, I mean, it’s absolutely impossible . . .” She put her face in her hands. “There is so much wickedness in the world.”

Frances laid a gentle hand on her. “Tommie, I’m not accusing anyone, not yet. There’s a lot I don’t understand. There are personal and diplomatic problems all mixed together here.” She hadn’t forgotten about Mr. Mehmet. “But I have discovered some things and will discover more, I promise.” Tommie gave her a hug. “You stay strong for Gwen, and I’ll stay strong for you.”

There was a knock on the door, and Gwen came in. “I had a nice nap—and I’m glad I found both of you here. Franny, I was thinking about the Eyrie. Am I really going to be mistress here? You will help me, both of you?”

“Of course,” said Tommie. Gwen looked out the window. “There’s a view of the back lawn. Every year my father would sponsor a village fete in midsummer and have a traveling theater troupe perform. A comedy, something suitable for families. I will want to continue that, if I stay here. The villagers liked it so much—we can do that, can’t we Tommie?”

“Of course,” said Tommie.

“Ladies,” said Frances. “Here we are refreshed and at loose ends. It’s too late to pay calls, so why don’t we get a little suffrage work done? Tommie, let’s have another look at that pamphlet manuscript, and Gwen, it would be delightful if you could organize some note cards.”

Tommie instantly focused on the task at hand, and Gwen was pleased to have something to do.

In the servants’ hall, Mallow was enjoying a cup of tea with Nellie, Amy Hopp, and some of the other maids. Although many ladies and gentlemen visited the Eyrie, it couldn’t compete with the London home of the Marquess of Seaforth. Mallow impressed everyone with an account of the king’s visit, as well as visits from the prime minister, the bishop of London, and various dukes and earls.

“And at Miss Plimsoll’s Hotel, where we live, the great actress Mrs. Patrick Campbell once called on Lady Frances in her carriage, and they went out to dinner together.”

That was the most impressive of all to the other servants—the glamour and raffish reputation of the London stage. But the cook was not one of them, saying that “actresses are not respectable.”

“Lady Frances is the daughter of a marquess,” said Mallow. “Everything she does is respectable.” That settled the argument, as far as Mallow was concerned, but the cook just shook her head.

A young maid, unfamiliar to Mallow and looking a little shy, broke into the circle. “Excuse me, Miss. Are you maid to Lady Frances Ffolkes? My name is Dolly and I was told to ask for you.”

The other servants looked on with curiosity, as Dolly and Mallow stepped into the hallway, where they could have a bit of privacy.

“You see, Miss, I work a bit part-time for Mrs. Sweet, in one of the widows’ cottages, and she’s been in her room for hours, and I think she’s sick. She won’t answer my knocks and her door is locked.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s always a bit awkward when a lady does that. But we haven’t met—why are you asking me?”

Dolly fidgeted. “Your lady called on my great-grandmother, Betsy Tanner, and she was very impressed. She said, ‘That’s a real lady, that is, Dolly. And you can tell from her dress and hair, she has a maid who knows what’s what.’ So I’d like to ask you, Miss, what to do, as you’re a guest, you see.”

Of course. If Dolly asked for help from a visiting servant, there was less chance word would get back to the butler or head housemaid that a problem had come up that she couldn’t handle.

Mallow felt pleased with herself that this young girl was asking for her advice and guidance. The cottages were a short walk away, Dolly said, and as it was still some time before she would dress Lady Frances for dinner, she could walk over with Dolly and help her solve the problem. Mallow got her cloak, and they headed over to Lavender Cottage.

“The door was unlatched, as it usually is when Mrs. Sweet is home. But the bedroom upstairs is locked.”

They walked upstairs. Mallow tried the door; it was indeed locked. She rapped sharply. “Mrs. Sweet. Are you unwell?” she called loudly. She put her ear to the door, which in this simple cottage wasn’t nearly as thick and heavy as the doors in the Eyrie. She didn’t hear a sound. She looked through the keyhole; there was no key. Mallow could only see the empty bed.

But Lady Frances had taught her a trick. She sent Dolly downstairs to get a thin knife from the kitchen. She looked confused, but did as she was told. When she returned, Mallow began working on the lock. Lady Frances knew how to do this, and once they spent an amusing afternoon practicing on their own door back in Miss Plimsoll’s. After ten minutes, Mallow was rewarded with a click.

“How clever,” said Dolly.

“Mrs. Sweet? We’re very sorry to disturb you, but—oh!” Mrs. Sweet was slumped in her chair with her jaw and eyes open and a box of candy on her lap. Mallow could see a hole in the bodice of her dress, and what appeared to be dried blood surrounding it.

Mallow steeled herself, walked up to her, and gently placed her fingers on Mrs. Sweet’s hand. It was cold. It was the second dead body Mallow had seen in a few days, but Mallow had become used to it. She had seen dead people before; that wasn’t something that could be hidden in the crowded tenements where
she had grown up. And this woman was certainly dead—and had been for some hours, at least. Mallow had never seen a gunshot wound up close, but she guessed that’s what she was looking at.

Dolly started to whimper.

“Stop that,” said Mallow sharply. “We have things to do. I will get my mistress. You will stay here.”

“I can’t stay in this house,” wailed Dolly.
It was an old cottage
, reasoned Mallow.
Dozens of people had probably died here over the years. But that wasn’t going to reassure the girl.

“Fine. Stay outside. If anyone comes by, say that Mrs. Sweet is unwell, she’s not receiving, and the doctor has been called.” The girl sniffled and nodded.

Mallow saw a key on the night table.
So someone had an extra copy. And took it with them, apparently.
She locked the bedroom door on their way out and pocketed the key. She set up Dolly outside. Then started walking briskly back to the house.

Finding Lady Frances at work with her friends, she simply said that Mrs. Sweet was not feeling entirely well and would like it if her ladyship could stop by.

Frances excused herself from her friends, who sent their good wishes, and walked out with Mallow.

“She’s not sick, is she?” asked Frances when they were alone.

“No, my lady. She’s definitely dead.” She explained how she came to uncover the body, and how she found the key even though the door had obviously been locked by a second key. Frances listened as she usually did, focusing carefully and not interrupting.

“Very good, Mallow. Nicely handled—again. You weren’t upset by the body?”

“No, my lady.”

“You didn’t call the police, did you?”

“Certainly not, my lady. It’s not my place.”

“Very good, Mallow.”

The miserable-looking Dolly was still sitting outside and jumped up when Lady Frances arrived.

“Oh, my lady. Shall I go for the police, now that you’re here?”

“In a moment, Dolly. I just want to see for myself.”

“But, my lady—”

Frances turned. “Now, Dolly. If Mrs. Sweet really is dead, a few minutes won’t make any difference.”

Once they were upstairs, Mallow gave Frances the key and they walked in. Frances also felt the body’s temperature, then she turned her attention to the spilled box of chocolates. Mrs. Sweet had been eating them when she died.

“She clearly was shot, Mallow. And I guess by someone she knew. She was happily eating chocolates when she was killed.”

“That is evil, my lady.”

“Yes, it is, Mallow.”

“What could she have done to anyone that they’d want to kill her?”

“Sometimes, people are not killed for what they’ve done. They’re killed for what they’ve seen.” She thought of Sir Calleford and Mrs. Sweet walking in the night. Was that the reason—they had seen something?

Mrs. Sweet had indulged her passion for candy in the privacy of her bedroom. A visitor came and shot her. Then the murderer had locked the door from the outside and walked away with the key, to ensure it would be a while before someone found the body.

Nothing more to learn here. Closing the bedroom door behind them, they went into the sitting room. Frances didn’t find anything out of place. The room was neat and tidy, with just a few ladies magazines and a couple of popular novels. Then they walked into the little kitchen. Nothing out of order here either. It was simply set up. Perhaps Dolly, or some other local girl, prepared her dinner. The only things that caught Frances’s eye were three small canisters of dried herbs: ginger, red raspberry, chamomile. “Come, Mallow. I think we’ve seen whatever there is to see.”

Dolly was anxiously waiting outside.

“Dolly, just one more thing. Did you cook for Mrs. Sweet?”

“Not the dinners, my lady. Usually one of my older cousins, Katie or Sophie, did that. But I made her sandwiches sometimes for her lunch.”

“There are herbs in the kitchen. Do you know if they were used for cooking?”

“Oh no, my lady. Mrs. Sweet liked her gardening, and said she made teas and things with those and we weren’t to use them.”

“I see. And one more question—did you help Mrs. Sweet with her clothes at all? Mending or anything like that?”

“Yes, my lady. Small things, torn hems and darning. But for the big things she had me bring her dresses to the village seamstress, Mrs. Copley.”

“Really? Was that frequent?”

“Only of late, my lady. Mrs. Sweet laughed and said she ate too much chocolate and needed her dresses let out. Mrs. Copley is a very clever seamstress, I told her, and good at things like that.”

At that, Frances sent a very relieved Dolly to fetch the village constable, while she and Mallow made themselves comfortable in the sitting room.

“I did not know her well,” said Frances, “but I think I learned one thing about her. She was Sir Calleford’s mistress.”

Mallow’s eyes got wide. She had seen a bit of life since going into service, but sexual immorality still shocked her.

“Really, my lady, a great man like Sir Calleford? And Mrs. Sweet seemed so pleasant. I saw her at the funeral lunch.” But it was clear. The large sum of money Sir Calleford had given her and their conversation in the nighttime garden. That was the best explanation. The gentle, good-natured Mrs. Sweet must have reminded Sir Calleford of his late wife.

“She was pleasant, Mallow. I doubt if she was a simple prostitute. I can see how they truly enjoyed each other’s company.”

Mallow gave a little “hmph,” the closest she came to a complete disagreement with her ladyship.

“You don’t believe in romance?” teased Frances.

“Oh no, my lady. I like romance. The moving pictures with romance are the best. But one thing can lead to another, my lady; I’ve seen it too often. The man has his bit of fun, and he doesn’t believe in romance anymore. He’s gone, and as likely as not, the girl is in a family way and no respectable man will marry her, and no respectable place will hire her. What then, my lady?”

And Frances had to agree that Mallow made an excellent point.

Constable Dill, the one who had questioned Mallow earlier, came briskly up the path with Dolly—and Inspector Bedlow.

“Oh, Lady Frances, we meet again.” Bedlow gave a thin smile. “Now, I hear there’s a dead body?” Mallow produced the key, and the two officers went upstairs after telling the three women to wait in the sitting room. They both came down a few moments later, the inspector looking grim.