Death Wears a Mask (23 page)

“Mr. Barrington may have done it,” I suggested. “If he didn't care for his nephew and knew about the earlier thefts, perhaps he used the opportunity to revenge himself. Or perhaps he was still angry with Harker about his past indiscretions. Then again, Mr. Harker has likely been making a nuisance of himself all of his life. Why should Mr. Barrington be more likely to kill him now than at any other time? I suppose it could have been a matter opportunity?”

Milo looked unconvinced. “At Lord Dunmore's ball? He could have easily killed him somewhere else much more conveniently and with much less risk of being caught.”

I had to admit he had a point. “It was risky, wasn't it?” A thought came to me suddenly. “How did the killer know that he or she would be able to get away with it? There were people everywhere on the first floor. It seems that the killer must have used the opportunity to kill him rather than having planned it ahead of time.”

“That makes sense,” Milo agreed. “I think we may safely say that the murder was not premeditated.”

“Nigel Foster seems a very unlikely candidate,” I said, moving on to the other suspects. “Though he and Mr. Harker had some contacts, I don't see any reason why he might have killed him. Besides, I doubt he would risk his storied career over a few jewels.”

“Not to mention murder is very unsportsmanlike,” Milo added dryly.

“There is something else strange.” I told of the story Mr. and Mrs. Douglas-Hughes had given about the missing earring. “If she didn't really lose her jewelry, what could Mr. Douglas-Hughes have been searching for?”

“Perhaps he hid the bracelet and went back for it.”

“No,” I said. “I refuse to believe Mr. and Mrs. Douglas-Hughes might have had anything to do with the murder.”

Milo smiled indulgently. “So Sandy and his lovely wife have been singled out for your special brand of amnesty this time around. I've told you before, darling. You can't choose the people you like best and excuse them from your suspect list.”

“I have an instinct,” I responded archly.

“Ah.”

“Mr. Douglas-Hughes is a very respectable gentleman. I can't imagine him participating in something as sordid as this. And Mamie … well, she's so very sweet and elegant. No,” I said firmly. “I've made up my mind. Neither of them could possibly be the killer.”

“I'll admit, Mrs. Douglas-Hughes is rather charming for an American. Her past is shaded in mystery, however. A musical revue seems a hotbed of sordid secrets. As for Douglas-Hughes, I imagine he has a great many secrets of his own. And James Harker was known for ferreting things out.”

“They've already been picked apart by the press. What would one more secret matter?”

“People have been known to kill for less.”

“You are so frightfully pragmatic this evening, Milo.”

He smiled. “That, my dear, is the first time in my life I have ever been accused of that.”

The coffee came then, and we settled into comfortable silence until the waiter had gone.

“This is a very lovely room,” I said, looking about as I sipped my coffee.

When my eyes fell on Milo, I saw that he was looking at me intently, and I had to fight down the flutter in my stomach.

“No hotel can compare to one's home. I long to return to the comforts of a soft bed and a warm wife … or perhaps the other way around. How long is my banishment going to last?”

When he looked at me that way, it was so very difficult to forget how much I loved him.

“I don't know,” I replied, summoning up my resolve. “I need time to think about everything, but, truthfully, I don't like to think about it. I'm sure you can understand that it's rather unpleasant for me.”

“Will you let me tell you what happened?”

I looked into his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Will you be honest with me?”

“Yes.”

“I'd rather the ugly truth than your pretty lies, Milo.”

“I'll tell you the truth.” He set his drink on the table and turned to face me. “It was one kiss. Nothing before, nothing after.”

“Why did you kiss her?” I asked softly.

“I didn't kiss her. She kissed me. I didn't know she was going to do it.”

“And poor, helpless thing that you are, you couldn't stop her,” I said sardonically.

“Will you let me finish?”

I waved a hand for him to continue. I could already tell that I was going to find his story ridiculous, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“They must have snapped the photograph at exactly the right time, for as soon as she did it, I disentangled myself from her. I dropped her off at her hotel immediately, and that was the last I've seen of her. There was never anything more to it than that. Everything before that was just rumor, and she apparently began to believe it.”

“What were you doing with her to begin with? You told me you were going to Bedfordshire.”

“I did go to Bedfordshire. I met her at the train station, and she asked me to have a drink with her. I didn't see any harm in it.”

I sighed. “You don't expect me to believe that you didn't know her intentions when she's displayed such obvious interest in your company.”

“I wasn't interested in her. I thought that was the material thing.”

“No, Milo,” I said. “The material thing is that you see nothing wrong with your behavior. Even if your highly questionable account of events happens to be true, even if that was the only time you've ever kissed her, it doesn't matter. If this is all some grand misunderstanding, as you claim, it still doesn't account for the fact that you care nothing about how things look.”

“Why should I?” he replied. “Why should I care what people think?”

“Because I do,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I'm tired of being made to look the fool. I know what people say: ‘Poor Mrs. Ames suffers in silence as her husband parades his mistresses through the society columns.' Well, I'm not going to suffer in silence, Milo. Not anymore.”

“I've told you. There was nothing in it.”

“There's no use in going round and round about it,” I said tiredly. “If I can't make you understand why I dislike your spending time dining and kissing and heaven knows what else with other women, then there's nothing else to be said.”

I set my coffee on the table and stood, and he stood with me.

“Amory, this is quite ridiculous.”

“I went to see Mr. Ludlow this morning,” I said suddenly. I hadn't expected to share the fact that my unpleasant errand earlier in the day had been a visit to our solicitor, but now it seemed the moment to make it known. “I think you should know that I consulted him on the various … options that are open to me.”

This news, I think, caught him off guard, for I saw the barest hint of surprise cross his features before it was smoothed away. “You don't mean to tell me that you're really serious about all of this?”

“Of course I'm serious,” I replied, meeting his gaze levelly. “I've never been more in earnest in my life.”

“You're thinking of divorcing me?” He asked the question in an expressionless voice, but his eyes on my face held an unusual intensity.

I shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps there's nothing else to be done. Perhaps we don't belong together…”

“Don't be absurd.”

“There's no need for us to keep up the pretense of being happy if we're not. We wouldn't be the first couple of our acquaintance who … who couldn't make a go of it.”

“I believe we said ‘for as long as we both shall live.'”

If the moment had not been what it was, I might have laughed at the irony of his quoting our wedding vows.

“We said a lot of things, Milo. You don't get to pick and choose which apply.”

“You know perfectly well you don't want a divorce. For one thing, it will cause…”

“What?” I challenged. “Scandal? Embarrassment? Well, better to put up with it for a few months than for the rest of my life.”

We looked at one another, and I could no longer read anything in his bright blue eyes.

“You've made up your mind, then?” His voice had gone cool, and I recognized that there would be no impassioned entreaties. I hadn't wanted any, but somehow I found myself disheartened that he should capitulate so easily.

“No,” I replied, straining to keep my voice even. “I haven't said that. I only know I can't go on with the way things have been.”

He didn't reply, and I picked up my coat. “We'll talk again later, Milo. Good night.”

I went down to the lobby alone and waited for Markham to return and take me home.

 

21

I JUDGED THE
evening to have been a catastrophic failure as far as my marriage was concerned, and I was utterly exhausted by the time I reached home. The day had been much too eventful, and my head was fairly swimming.

I hadn't meant for things to unravel so rapidly with Milo, but I supposed it was time for things to come to a head. He knew now where I stood, and it was up to him to determine what he meant to do about it. I tried to fight back the nagging worry that he might follow the path of least resistance and allow me to divorce him.

Despite my unease and agitation over all that had occurred, I had scarcely slid beneath the sheets before I was sleeping soundly.

I slept much later than usual, and before I could rise, Winnelda came bustling into the room with a tray of toast and coffee. “I thought perhaps you'd enjoy breakfast in bed this morning, madam,” she said cheerily.

“That's very kind of you, Winnelda.”

As a matter of fact, I was still feeling rather drained from the events of last evening, and the prospect of lounging abed for another hour was distinctly appealing.

She set the tray down, arranging things on it for a few moments before stepping back and allowing me to pick up my coffee cup.

“Thank you.”

She stood waiting, and I looked up at her expectantly. I had come to recognize that expression of barely concealed eagerness. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“You're ever so perceptive, madam,” she said with a smile. “You always seem to know just what I'm thinking. As a matter of fact, there is something I wanted to tell you. I've heard something rather strange from Lilly this morning, and I thought you might want to know about it.”

“Have you?” I replied with interest. “What was it?”

“It's rather scandalous,” she warned.

“I'm certain my nerves will bear up,” I reassured her, stirring sugar and milk into my coffee.

“Well, Mrs. Garmond came home from her hat shopping yesterday, and Gladys said she was acting rather strange.”

“Indeed?”

“Gladys says she's normally so very calm, but it seemed as though something had upset her.”

I brought my coffee cup to my lips, contemplating this bit of news. She had encountered me at the hat shop. I wondered if I had somehow brought about this unexpected reaction.

“She had ordered dinner, but then she went out again without eating”—Winnelda paused for dramatic effect before adding, with significance—“and did not return home until this morning.”

My brows rose. “I see.”

There were, certainly, plausible explanations for her overnight absence, but I also thought it quite possible that she had gone to see Lord Dunmore, and that he had induced her to stay the night with him. If that was the case, however, what was it that had upset her, and why had she sought him out when they were rumored not to be on the best of terms?

“Weren't the servants worried when she didn't arrive home?” I asked.

Winnelda lifted her eyebrows. “I'm afraid it's not the first time it's happened, madam. In fact, Gladys says that it used to be a fairly regular turn of events, up until recently.”

“Thank you for telling me, Winnelda,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee as I turned this bit of information around in my mind. “That is very interesting indeed.”

*   *   *

I FOUND I
could not remain in bed after breakfast, for I felt a nervous energy and the desire to do something useful.

I decided that the next best course of action would be for me to speak again to Mrs. Barrington. Given what I had learned the last few days, I had several questions for her. I also needed to let her know that Lord Dunmore had agreed to consider dangling the Dunmore Diamond before the thief.

I rang her up, and she said that she would come to see me. In typical fashion, she wasted no time. She had arrived at the flat in less than an hour. I had barely had time to bathe and dress before Winnelda was showing her into the sitting room.

She settled herself in a chair, waving away my offer of coffee or tea. “Have you spoken with Lord Dunmore?”

“Yes, he says he will consider it.”

“That's better than a flat no, I suppose,” she mused. “Was there some other reason you wished to see me, Mrs. Ames?”

I decided it would be best to come directly to the point. She was not the type of woman who needed—or wanted—to be treated with delicacy. “Mrs. Barrington, someone mentioned last night that at a dinner party a few weeks ago, Mr. Harker had made a comment about a piece of your jewelry, and how it reminded him of a piece that someone would give to his mistress.”

Mrs. Barrington's eyes widened. “Who told you that?”

“Mrs. Douglas-Hughes mentioned it,” I said, seeing no point in concealing it. “I was trying to get information that might prove useful, and she recalled the incident.”

Mrs. Barrington frowned. “James didn't mean anything by that. He was simply jesting with me. He was always saying strange things. It was just a way he had. He didn't know when he was being inappropriate.”

“Did Mr. Harker have a mistress?” I asked.