Death Wears a Mask (20 page)

Well, if he was going to tell me something about Mrs. Garmond, perhaps I could beat him to the punch. Perhaps I should try to speak to Mrs. Garmond on my own. I was vaguely aware that this newfound competitive streak might not be an exceptionally flattering trait, but I didn't much care at the moment. I was determined to trump him if I could.

But how to speak with Mrs. Garmond? I wished there was some way I could contact her without calling attention to the fact that I suspected she might be involved with murder. Then again, I could really think of no good reason why she might have murdered James Harker. Perhaps the direct approach would be best.

“Winnelda,” I said. “Will you ring the operator and see if you can telephone Mrs. Vivian Garmond? I'd like to speak to her.”

“Oh, she won't be at home, madam,” Winnelda said. “She's gone hat shopping this afternoon.”

I stared at her. “How on earth do you know that?”

“A friend of mine is the cousin of a girl who is rooming with a girl who works for Mrs. Garmond. We're all maids, you see, so it's the sort of thing that interests us. I saw my friend at the market today, and she mentioned in a roundabout way that Mrs. Garmond always has the loveliest hats, and she was going shopping for a new one this afternoon.”

“Good heavens,” I breathed. “Winnelda, do you mean to tell me that information on Mrs. Garmond's whereabouts has traveled the distance of four maids in the space of one morning?”

“Oh, word gets around, madam,” she said impressively.

It was certainly something worth noting. I could only imagine the sort of things that had “gotten around” about Milo and me.

She seemed to interpret my thoughts, for she added quickly, “Not that I'm much of one to gossip, Mrs. Ames. Mostly I just listen to what the others have to say.”

I was suddenly struck with how useful a source of information Winnelda's connections might prove to be.

“What else have you heard about Mrs. Garmond?”

“Well,” Winnelda said, “I don't like to spread tales about, but they do say that she is not receiving company from a certain gentleman as often as she has been in the past.”

“Lord Dunmore, you mean?”

Winnelda nodded. Apparently, my knowledge of the situation was enough to open her informational floodgates. “Lilly—that's my friend—says that Jenny, her roommate, says that Gladys—that's Mrs. Garmond's maid—is concerned about Mrs. Garmond as of late. Gladys says she seems more than usually sad, and she's been cutting back on the household expenses, though Gladys said that she's been trying not to make it obvious.”

“And yet she has the money to go hat shopping,” I observed.

“Oh, well, as to that, a new hat does wonders for cheering a woman up,” she told me sagely.

“You're quite right, Winnelda,” I said contemplatively. “In fact, I think I may be in need of a new hat myself.”

*   *   *

I HAD NEVER
visited Madame LeFleur's hat shop before. In fact, I suspected my milliner would be affronted in the extreme to know I had even set foot in a competing establishment. Nevertheless, Madame LeFleur's was familiar to me, and I could tell at once that it catered to a selective clientele. The interior was elegantly decorated with thick carpet, rose-colored silk-papered walls, and rows of beveled mirrors that reflected the light of the glittering crystal chandeliers.

At a glance, it seemed that the merchandise, displayed on assorted stands, shelves, and haughty mannequin heads, was also very high quality. The materials were expensive, the embellishments artfully arranged, and the styles the height of fashion. I was impressed.

There were only a few women in the shop at present, and none of them took notice of me as I entered. Winnelda's sources had been correct, for I saw that Mrs. Garmond was with one of the salesgirls along the wall, sitting on a stool of ivory satin. I tried to appear as though I didn't notice her as one of the other women came my way.

“How may I help you, madam?” she asked.

“I'm just looking for a nice new hat.”

“Certainly. Are you looking to have something designed for you, or would you like to purchase something premade?”

I glanced around at the rather extensive inventory. “I'm certain I can find something ready-made. You seem to have a very nice selection.”

“Thank you, madam. I'm sure we'll have something that will suit you very well,” she said. “Anything in particular?”

“Something modern, I think,” I said. I had no real need for a hat, but Winnelda was right about the therapeutic effects of buying one. “I have nothing particular in mind, though I have a lovely red wool suit for autumn that could benefit from a new hat.”

She stepped back and studied my face for a long moment, her head tilted to the side. “You have very lovely features,” she pronounced at last. “You'll need something set back from the face, to frame it. I think I have just the thing. Excuse me for a moment. I'll be back directly.”

“Thank you.”

She walked away and began looking over the hats that rested on a shelf on the other side of the room. Her absence gave me the opportunity to try to work my way over to Mrs. Garmond.

I walked slowly along, looking at some of the creations on display. The designs were very modern, and, despite my ulterior motives for coming, I found myself looking forward to seeing what the salesgirl would bring me.

I stopped not far from Mrs. Garmond, picking up a hat in a startling shade of canary yellow. I suspected it would look ghastly with my skin tone, but I picked it up and put it on, walking toward the mirror next to the one where Mrs. Garmond sat.

She glanced my way as I approached.

“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “Hello, Mrs. Garmond.”

“Hello, Mrs. Ames.” Though I wouldn't have said, exactly, that she was happy to see me, it didn't seem as though she was uncomfortable with my sudden arrival.

“That's a lovely hat,” I said, indicating the one she was wearing, which was of deep garnet felt with braid detailing along the brim. She turned back to the mirror and studied it. “I do like it,” she said.

It was an elegant hat, and I suspected it was likely to be expensive. If she was no longer relying on Lord Dunmore for financial support, she must have been able to keep herself in style in some other way.

The saleslady came back to me and held up a black felt hat with a narrow brim and netting and feathers that sat at a jaunty angle. I was not at all certain it would suit me, but I removed the yellow hat and took it from her. I set it on my head and surveyed myself in the mirror. I had to admit, it was a flattering style.

“Stunning,” she said, with what sounded like finality. “It's perfect for you.”

It seemed as though I was going to have very little say in the matter.

I turned my head to study it from another angle. It was rather a lovely little hat, and I thought it would complement my suit very well. Just because I had come to glean information did not mean I couldn't take advantage of the locale. “I'll take it,” I said.

“Excellent. I'll wrap it for you. Is there anything else?”

“I think I'll look around a bit, if I may.”

“Certainly. You've only to call if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

She took my hat away, and I glanced around at the others on display. The more I looked, the more I began to like.

I picked up a navy blue close-fitting hat with a netted veil.

“How have you been faring since the ball?” I asked Mrs. Garmond, as I put on the hat. She had made no attempt at conversation since I had greeted her, and I knew drawing her out would likely be difficult.

She turned with what could only be described as a guarded expression. “I've been fine. Why do you ask?”

“I was rather shaken up by Mr. Harker's death,” I said casually, arranging the netting on my hat, my eyes on the mirror. “I can't seem to stop thinking about it.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, as though she had forgotten about it. “That was dreadful. So shocking.”

I wondered what else had occurred at the ball to make murder of secondary interest.

“Who do you think might have done it?” I asked bluntly.

There was the faintest pause before her cool eyes met mine. “I'm sure I have no idea.”

It seemed she was not going to be a font of theories.

“I was actually upstairs when it happened,” I went on. “I had twisted my ankle, you see, and was resting in one of the bedrooms.”

She turned and looked at me then, her gaze suddenly shrewd. It occurred to me to wonder for the first time if she might have been annoyed by the attention Lord Dunmore had paid me at the ball. I hadn't noticed her anywhere there, but that didn't mean she hadn't noticed me.

“I hope your ankle is feeling better,” she said, though it seemed a response made more from politeness than sincerity. I was not making any headway in this conversation. It seemed that the more we spoke, the more aloof she became.

“Oh, it's much better, thank you. It was a lovely ball before that.” I picked up another hat, one made of forest-green felt with leaf detailing.

“Alexander always throws lovely parties.” There was something in her pointed use of Lord Dunmore's Christian name and the acknowledgment of their history that suddenly made me suspect that her coolness might be grounded in uncertainty over my interest in him. Her next statement confirmed it.

“You've been seeing rather a lot of him lately, so I hear.”

So that was the way it was. She suspected that I was encroaching on her territory. I wondered just where she had heard that bit of inaccurate information. “Not really, no,” I said. “I barely know him, in fact.”

Her eyes seemed to study my face in the mirror, as though she was trying to gauge my truthfulness in it.

I thought about the dinner at Mrs. Barrington's and the night of the ball. I had seen very little interaction between the two of them. I wondered if they were simply keeping their relationship as discreet as possible. Somehow, given what I knew of Lord Dunmore, I thought that unlikely. It seemed to me that the two of them must have had a falling out. Perhaps she worried that he would move on rather than return to her. Well, she needn't concern herself on my account. Even if Lord Dunmore had set his sights on me, I had no interest in a flirtation.

I wondered if there was any way I could get her to talk about what had caused them to drift apart, but, given her frigid demeanor, it seemed unlikely in the extreme. I would have to ask Winnelda to ask Lilly to ask Jenny to ask Gladys what might have transpired.

“Someone mentioned they had seen him at your flat,” she said. Her tone was too casual, and I knew she was wondering what I would say.

“He dropped by in passing, to see how my ankle was mending.”

I didn't know if she believed me, but she seemed to have thawed ever so slightly when she spoke again. “To tell the truth, I think he was more affected by the events of the ball than he likes to admit.”

“I can imagine,” I replied, wondering what she meant by this. I had detected very little sign of it in his manner yesterday. Then again, Mrs. Garmond knew him much better than I. He wouldn't have been likely to share such things with me.

“I saw him this morning,” she continued, “and he mentioned how troubled he was by everything that has happened.”

She'd seen him this morning, had she? Perhaps things were not as strained between them as I had believed. I wondered if he had mentioned that I had called and that we had a dinner engagement for the following evening. It might have accounted for her coolness toward me.

“I still find it hard to believe that such a thing happened under all of our noses. Did you hear the shot?” I asked.

It seemed to me that she hesitated ever so slightly before she answered. “No. I was in the ballroom at the time, and the music was too loud.”

That was curious. Inspector Jones had told me that she was in one of the bedrooms when the murder had happened. For some reason, she had chosen to tell me a deliberate lie. Perhaps it was because the truth might have proved embarrassing for some reason, but there was always the chance that her lie was meant to cover something more sinister.

I picked up another hat, this one a strangely shaped brim that would be sure to draw attention, and perhaps not the positive kind. I put it on. “I had only just met Mr. Harker at the Barringtons' dinner party. Did you know him well?”

Again, it seemed as though she hesitated. “Not very well, no. We came into contact not infrequently at social occasions, but we were not what I would call friends.”

There was something in her manner that gave me the impression she was keeping something back. I had not as yet made any connection between the two of them, but I wondered if there was something she was hiding.

It was apparent I was not going to learn much more from the reticent Mrs. Garmond. I searched my mind for some other point of common interest. “I have been pleased to make the acquaintance of Mr. Foster. I have long enjoyed watching him play.”

She dropped the hat pin she was holding and bent to pick it up, answering me as she did so. “I'm not very fond of tennis.”

I barely heard her reply, however, for I had noticed that the collar of her blouse slipped down, and I could make out dark marks along her collarbone. Bruises.

I looked away as she sat back up, so she would not see that I had noticed. I studied a crimson beret with much more attention than it merited.

“I think that would suit you,” she said, rising and gathering up her handbag and gloves. “You do look lovely in red. Good afternoon, Mrs. Ames.”

“Good afternoon.”

I finalized my purchases with the salesgirl and gave her the address of the flat for them to be delivered.

I left the shop not quite sure what I had accomplished. I had learned very little from Mrs. Garmond, though it was interesting that she had lied to me about her whereabouts at the time of the murder. I wondered if her lie had anything to do with the bruises. It was possible she had injured herself in some way, but the bruises had looked very much like marks left by fingers. Perhaps she and Lord Dunmore were not on friendly terms, after all.