Death Wears a Mask (16 page)

She stopped for breath, and I wondered if I could insert another question into the conversation. She beat me to it, however. “But here I am, running on about Lord Dunmore, and you've become acquainted with him yourself. You were at his ball when that murder happened, weren't you?” There was a sudden sharp look in her gaze, as though she was a predator closing in.

“Yes,” I answered casually, “but I had injured my ankle and wasn't there when it occurred. I'm afraid I could be of no help at all.”

“Poor dear,” she said, and I didn't know whether she meant my injury or the fact that I had been excluded from the excitement.

“I suppose it was someone after the jewels?” she asked, trying to draw me out.

“I'm afraid I really don't know,” I said honestly, and she frowned as though I had disappointed her.

“Poor Serena must be very upset. I haven't called on her yet, as I imagine she's busy with preparations.”

“I wasn't aware you knew Mrs. Barrington.” I imagined the two of them together and determined they would be a force to be reckoned with indeed.

“Serena was distantly related to my second husband. We have stayed in contact since his death, though we don't see each other much.”

“I believe Mr. Harker's death has been very hard on her,” I said. “And on Mr. Barrington.”

“Perhaps. I don't know him well, but I believe he was never terribly fond of the nephew.”

“Well, it was very sad, all around,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on course. “I was discussing it with Mrs. Douglas-Hughes only yesterday.” As I had hoped, this set her off again.

“Mrs. Douglas-Hughes is a fine woman,” she said. “One expects Americans to be a certain way, doesn't one? But she's not. She's quite a refined, lovely girl. I don't know, if I'd been doing the matching, that I'd have aligned her with Sanderson Douglas-Hughes. He's a gentleman, of course, but I don't know how much time he can devote to her when he is so very devoted to his work. Must be difficult for a man to concern himself with domestic life when he's always got his nose in foreign affairs.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Douglas-Hughes seem quite happy together,” I put in.

“Yes? Well, I hope so. One wonders if such a creative sort of person can be happy with a solemn gentleman, but opposites have attracted before this, haven't they?”

She didn't seem to need my confirmation, for she charged ahead, picking up steam. “This isn't his first brush with a mysterious death, I believe. I seem to recall that there was some foreign fellow a while back that was supposed to be working with Mr. Douglas-Hughes in some capacity but died rather unexpectedly. I suppose those things happen when one involves oneself in government. Those Echols girls were there, too, weren't they? I'm not surprised, for it seems that wherever there's trouble, Marjorie Echols isn't far behind. I've heard she was after James Harker, though goodness knows why she should want such a dolt … may he rest in peace.”

“I was given to understand that it was Felicity who cared for Mr. Harker,” I managed to interject.

“That may very well be. I should think that would only encourage Marjorie.”

I supposed I might as well go through the list of suspects while she was in full-disclosure mode, so I jumped to the next of them. “I was pleased to have met Mr. Nigel Foster, as I have long been an admirer of his.”

She hesitated as if searching her rumor reservoir, and I wondered if the gossip mill had actually ceased to grind. She recovered quickly, however. “I don't know much about Mr. Foster,” she admitted. “Sporting events have never much been my forte. He's a handsome young man. I believe there was a girl a while back, something about an engagement, I think, but she was in an accident, and then they broke it off. The girl moved to California or some such absurd place.”

“I see.” I didn't recall reading any such thing, but Winnelda's gossip magazines had only extended back a few months.

“So many interesting people in attendance at the ball. If only I had been there,” she lamented. She picked up a cookie and bit into it contemplatively. “I wasn't invited, of course, but half the people that attend his parties have not received invitations, so I shouldn't have let that stop me. Perhaps I'll attend the next one. I understand he throws them in rapid succession. The family's always been given to excess. His father was a libertine as well. I suppose he's still going to have the one this weekend.”

“Yes, I believe he plans for it to go on as scheduled.”

“I thought so. Lord Dunmore is not one to let tragedy put a stop to his fun. Well, perhaps I shall make an appearance. Have you seen the diamond?” she asked suddenly.

“The Dunmore Diamond? No, I haven't.”

“It's a necklace that belonged to his great-grandmother, a monstrous diamond from India, I think. What good it's doing locked away, I don't know. I saw it once on Lord Dunmore's mother. Poor dear, she was much too plain to do it justice. Oh,” she said, bringing her cup to her lips and taking it away again, “somehow my tea's managed to go cold. I can't imagine how I let that happen!”

*   *   *

I LEFT MRS. ROLAND'S
house a bit exhausted, and not until she had secured a promise from me that I would consider taking a puppy from the next litter of Wilhelmina, the fat Pekingese.

My own reputation had escaped relatively unscathed, and I had gained some very useful background information. For one thing, it seemed that the cloud that hung over Mrs. Garmond's past was darker than I had suspected.

I thought back to what Mrs. Barrington said about James Harker's always saying things he shouldn't. Was it possible he might have known something about the elusive Mr. Garmond? Then again, everyone commonly assumed the child was Dunmore's. Would evidence to the contrary be worth killing for? Perhaps. People clung very hard to the masks they wore.

The masks … I wondered again. Had it been a coincidence that Mr. Harker and Mr. Foster had worn the same mask? I was sure that Inspector Jones would have investigated that avenue by now. I felt vaguely irritated that he had not yet been in touch. I would have to telephone him tomorrow and find out what he had learned.

I reached home and promptly gave Winnelda another night off. I had a lot of thinking to do, and I thought it would best be done in silence. She was willing enough, as two of her friends had invited her to the cinema, but when it was time for her to leave she hesitated.

“You're certain you'll be all right, madam?” she asked a bit worriedly. “I won't leave if you'd rather I didn't.”

“Yes, thank you, Winnelda. I'm going to rest for a while. I'm quite tired.”

My nights of poor sleep were catching up with me. I lay down when she had gone, intending to close my eyes for just a little while. I was surprised when I woke up in a darkened bedroom. I had slept later than I intended.

I rose and went to make myself a cup of tea. Winnelda had left dinner for me, but I found I wasn't very hungry. Instead, I made myself some toast and took it with my tea into the parlor.

As I nibbled on my toast, I mulled over what I knew, which didn't appear to be much. No one seemed to have a very clear motive for murder. It all seemed to come back to the theft of the jewels, but I still had a hard time believing that any of the suspects would have been desperate enough to commit murder for a bracelet. It had to be more than that. There was something that was missing, some part of the mystery that had not yet come to light. But what? I didn't know where to look next.

I was pulled from my musings as I heard the front door open.

“Is that you, Winnelda?” I called. She was back earlier than I had expected.

“Not even close,” said Milo, coming into the room. I felt myself tense at his unexpected appearance. I hadn't prepared myself for his arrival, and felt strangely at a loss. I set my teacup down, and, to my annoyance, it rattled slightly in the saucer.

If he noticed anything amiss, or if he was feeling any guilt, he gave absolutely no indication of it.

“I got the brute settled faster than I had imagined. He's a magnificent animal, but I think he'll rival Xerxes in terms of surly temperament. I left him in Geoffrey's capable hands. We'll have to go back to Thornecrest for a weekend soon.”

He came to where I sat and leaned to kiss me, but my voice stopped him.

“I can smell her perfume on your coat, Milo.”

His eyes met mine, and I could see then that he knew that I knew. The cloying scent of rose hung in the air, as palpable as my anger.

I stood, unable to bear the pretense of civility any longer. “I'm going to bed. Good night.”

“Amory…”

“Good night.”

I left the room without looking back, and Milo didn't come after me.

 

15

ONCE AGAIN, I
couldn't sleep, and I felt much worse in the morning than when I had gone to bed. The mirror clearly reflected the effects of my miserable night. I looked pale and drawn, and I suspected that no amount of makeup was going to help.

Nevertheless, I bathed and dressed in a becoming black Bruyère suit. Then I walked resolutely from my room, ready to meet Milo, should it even prove necessary.

I didn't want to face him, but there was a very good possibility he was still in bed, or perhaps even gone from the flat. I assumed he had slept in the guest room, but for all I knew he had gone back to Mademoiselle Renault. In any event, I didn't intend to hide from him.

I sat down at the table and poured myself a cup of coffee, gratified to see that my hands were perfectly steady. I had absolutely no appetite, but I didn't want Winnelda to know that I was upset. I was fairly certain she could sense something was amiss, however, for she went about on tenterhooks and refrained from her normal morning chatter.

Milo came into the room a few minutes after I did and sat across from me. Neither of us spoke, and the tension was heavy in the air. Despite his habitual nonchalance, I could tell that he was treading carefully, trying to gauge my mood.

“Amory…” he began at last.

I shook my head slowly, not looking up from my coffee. I didn't want to talk to him, not here and not now. It wasn't only the possibility that Winnelda might overhear. I simply didn't feel ready.

He didn't press me, and for that I was grateful. I picked at my food, pretending to eat it while my mind raced in a thousand directions. What could I say to him? What was there to say? It was perfectly clear where we stood; the only thing to be determined was where things would go from here.

“Will you go for a walk with me?” he asked at last. I supposed he had seen through my pretense of eating breakfast, for all I had really done was move my food about the plate.

I looked up at him for the first time since he had come into the room. His gaze was steady, calm. I wished desperately that he didn't always look so very sure of himself.

I hesitated as I considered his request. A few moments of staring at my breakfast plate had still not prepared me for the conversation ahead, but I supposed it was better to get it over with. At least a walk would give us privacy. I wondered if he thought I would be less inclined to make a scene in public. He needn't have worried; I didn't intend to make things difficult.

“I'll get my coat,” I said.

I put on a cloche and fetched a light coat and gloves from the bedroom and cast one last glance at myself in the mirror. I looked much more composed than I felt, and I was glad of it.

Milo was waiting for me in the foyer. He helped me into my coat, and we went out into the hallway, down the lift, and out of the building in silence.

We stepped out into the cool morning air. It was a lovely day, complete with a light breeze and chirping birds. The kind of day that was perfect for lovers out walking. I suddenly wished the weather was not quite so nice. I suspected that gray skies would be more suited to the scene we were about to play.

There was a little park not far from the flat, and we started in that direction without conferring. It occurred to me how strange it was that we should be so in harmony in some things and so completely discordant in others.

Milo seemed to be waiting for me to speak, giving me time to decide what I wanted to say. This thoughtful courtesy, coming at a time like this, was somehow almost painful.

“I don't know why I'm surprised,” I said at last, breaking the silence. My voice sounded stronger than I had expected, and I was relieved. “I shouldn't be. Perhaps I should have expected it. But the plain fact remains that I was shocked to see that photograph.”

“Yes, I was afraid of that. I had hoped to warn you before you saw it.”

“That would have been kind of you,” I said icily. “But, then again, I suppose it's usual for the wife to be the last to know.”

“It's not what it looks like, if that's any consolation.”

I let out an incredulous laugh, my hands clenching in the pockets of my coat. “Come now, Milo. Is that the best you can do?”

“It's perfectly clear that now is not the time for explanations. You wouldn't believe me if I gave them to you.”

I gave him a brittle smile. “Yes, you're right. I see no conceivable way this could be explained away, though I'm sure you've had time to formulate a lovely story.”

“It isn't what you think.”

“Everyone knows perfectly well what it is,” I answered calmly. “Half of London is talking about it. There's no need for you to deny it to me.”

“I am not having an affair with Helene Renault.” There was something very like patience in his tone that set me on edge. It was as though he thought I was the one who was behaving irrationally.

I stopped and turned to face him. This walk had been a bad idea. I wasn't ready to maintain my composure in the face of his lies.