Queen of Hearts (Royal Spyness Mysteries) (24 page)

L
ATE
AT
NIGHT
ON
A
UGUST
3

“Damn,” the sheriff muttered. “Then that’s what we’re looking for next. A bloody glove, and its mate. No other fingerprints?”

“Plenty,” the deputy said. “All over the candlestick, but then I gather it was passed around everyone here to take a look at.”

“That fingerprint was on the window frame,” the sheriff went on. “So we have to conclude that either someone exited that way, or wants us to think they did. No sense in poking around in the dark, but as soon as it’s light I want that outside area searched. Who would have thought it could be Stella Brightwell, of all people? My wife idolizes her. But don’t they always say
Cherchez la femme
?”

“It would need someone with rope to have climbed down from the window,” Ronnie said dryly. “In case you haven’t looked out of the library windows, there is a sheer drop below. This house is built on a bluff, you know.”

“Then we’ll be looking for rope as well as a glove,” the sheriff said.

“Now really, Sheriff,” Mummy’s lovely voice echoed up the stairwell, “can anything else really be accomplished tonight? We’re all utterly exhausted and I’m sure you’d get more out of us in the morning. I’m equally sure you’d like a rest now and there are plenty of rooms all over the place. Help yourself.”

He looked down at her, looking petite, frail and languid as only Mummy can. Then he said, “Oh, very well. I suppose you can all go to bed, but I want everyone back here at eight o’clock sharp and don’t get any funny ideas about leaving during the night. One of my men is staying in the gatehouse until this is over and that gate doesn’t get opened unless I say so.”

“We wouldn’t dream of leaving, Sheriff.” Charlie stepped out of the shadows to stand beside Mummy. “We haven’t had this much fun in ages. Usually it’s quite a bore coming here but I must say I’m really glad that I did.” And he turned to glance at my mother. I had seen that look before and therefore I was not surprised when she said to me, in a breathless voice, “You won’t mind if I don’t join you in that horrid little cottage tonight, will you? I think I need the protection of a nice strong man.”

“Does Mr. Chaplin count as a nice strong man?” I asked. “He’s rather small.”

“But wiry, darling, and he has such lovely eyes. Like a spaniel I once owned. So deep and trusting.”

“And I see you don’t mind abandoning your own child to whatever monster might be prowling around out there tonight?”

She patted my arm. “Oh, darling. You don’t really think that, do you? It had to be Stella, didn’t it? She and Cy had already had one tiff this evening. She lost her temper and clobbered him in a fit of rage. Didn’t mean to kill him, of course, and then put a candlestick in her own bed to make it look as if someone was trying to frame her. She always was a quick-witted child.”

“What about your maid? What do I tell her?”

“You don’t have to tell her anything. She’s my maid. She sees nothing and thinks nothing. I’ll tell her myself if it upsets your prudish side. Besides, I believe she came up to dinner in the servants’ hall and I presume she hasn’t been allowed to leave.”

She headed in one direction, to pass on the information to her maid. We headed for the front door. Belinda fell into step beside me. “I don’t want to walk all that way in the dark,” she whispered. “Couldn’t one of those strong men drive us? I’m scared we’d get savaged by an antelope or something.”

“I don’t think antelopes go around savaging people,” I said, “but I must admit I’m not too keen to walk there alone either. I’ll ask the sheriff it we can be driven.”

Darcy was standing within earshot. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You don’t need to ask the sheriff. He’s gone off to question the staff. I’ll walk with you.”

“But will you be all right walking back alone?” I asked.

He smiled at me. He really had such a lovely smile. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, but . . .”

He moved closer to me. “Georgie—do you really think there is a murderer lurking in the undergrowth out there? It’s obvious to me that one of us must have killed Goldman and my money is still on Stella Brightwell.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said.

“What are your thoughts then?” he asked as we stepped into the cold dampness of the nighttime fog. Belinda latched on to one of my arms with an iron grip. I slipped the other arm through Darcy’s and together we made our way down the flagstoned path.

“Well, Mrs. Goldman is the obvious one,” I said. “Why did she come here when she normally avoids this place like the plague? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Goldman had announced that he planned to get a divorce and marry Stella. I really don’t believe that they were a devoted couple, as Barbara Kindell insists, do you? And why is
she
here too? Was she in on the plot with Mrs. Goldman or is she simply hoping to get some kind of scoop?”

“There’s nobody else who would seem to benefit from Mr. Goldman’s death,” Darcy said. “In fact they will all be out of a job if Golden Pictures folds.”

“Actually the one person I keep coming back to,” I said, “is Algie Broxley-Foggett. He was on the ship. He turns up out of the blue and gets himself invited here. And when I suggested that the candlestick could have been hidden in a suit of armor I remembered him and his ridiculous claim about wanting to see how he’d look as a knight.”

Darcy walked on in silence for a few seconds, our footsteps echoing in the stillness of the foggy night, then he said, “You might have something there. He was the only one unaccounted for after we left the library.”

“And he didn’t run up the stairs with us when they found the candlestick in Stella’s bed,” I added. “Was that because he knew what they must have found?”

“Interesting,” Darcy said. “So you think he could be the thief I’m tracking, don’t you? I’d love to find out more about him—whether he was present at all the gatherings where jewelry was stolen. Whether Scotland Yard has any suspicions about him.”

“So how could you find that out?” I asked.

“I’ll have to send a cable to London and that would involve driving into Los Angeles, I suspect.”

“Do you think the sheriff would let you leave?”

“I can ask in the morning. No telegraph office will be open before eight or nine, I’m sure. And I’m not ditching you tonight. In fact I may just sleep on your sofa, just to make sure.”

“Mummy’s got other plans, so I gather,” I said. “You could have her room.”

“Darlings, I don’t want to be a killjoy,” Belinda said. “Why don’t I take your mother’s room and you two can be cozy together.”

Darcy gave me a quick glance. “If you don’t mind . . .”

“When have I ever stood in the way of young love?” she said. “Especially when it seems that I am destined to become an aged spinster who keeps cats and does good works.”

“What is she talking about?” Darcy looked amused.

“My dears, I was turned down by a man. Rejected. Spurned. I was naked and ready and so very willing and he wasn’t interested. Let’s face it—I’ve lost my sex appeal.”

“Belinda,” I said, trying not to grin, “I shouldn’t tell you this, since you tried to steal him away from me.”

“You? Craig Hart really was interested in you?”

“Strange though it may seem, yes he was.”

“But you’ve got Darcy.”

“I know that, but Craig didn’t. He was very attentive to me until you arrived. I must admit I was flattered. I mean, Craig Hart. Who wouldn’t be flattered?”

“I caught them kissing,” Darcy said.

“You see. I knew it. You have more sex appeal than I do.” Belinda’s voice echoed through the fog.

“But it was the most uninspiring kiss I’ve ever had,” I said, “and now I know why.” I lowered my voice, searching for the right words. “He’s one of them, Belinda. You know.”

“You mean Craig Hart is a queer?” She started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“And you knew that and let me go on thinking . . .” Darcy said.

“I only found out at dinner tonight,” I said. “Ronnie told me. He said that Mr. Goldman had been pushing Craig to marry someone suitable and thus quell any rumors that could spoil his career. I suppose that’s why he went after me. Marriage to a British aristocrat would make good publicity, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh God,” Belinda said. “And to think if I hadn’t found out—I might have said yes to him and rushed off to Reno and found myself in a sexless marriage.”

“Ah, but think of the alimony when you divorced. You’d be set up for life,” Darcy quipped. “They’d have paid you handsomely to stay mum.”

“True.” Belinda paused, then shook her head vehemently. “Darlings—no amount of money is worth giving up sex for any length of time.” She released my arm and strode out ahead of us to where the fairy-tale shape of the cottage loomed out of the fog, a light glowing from a window. Darcy slipped an arm around my waist. “And in case you think I have any intentions tonight, the answer is no. Not with Belinda and your maid in the next rooms,” he whispered. “I’m only here to protect you.”

“That’s good,” I said, feeling half relieved and half disappointed.

A
S WE ENTERED
the cottage we were greeted by a worried-looking Queenie.

“Oh, miss. I ain’t half glad to see you,” she said. “I was scared out of me wits. I kept hearing noises outside, like someone or something prowling around and squeaks and heavy breathing. . . .”

“You’re quite safe now, Queenie. There are three of us here and my mother’s maid may be returning too.”

“Thank gawd for that,” she said. Then she noticed Darcy. “So where’s yer mum then?”

“My mother worried about being far from the main house, given the circumstances,” I said.

“Oh, that’s lovely, ain’t it. Real nice,” she said. “Everyone else is scared to come down here, out of the way, but you send me down here alone.”

“That’s because no killer would want to murder you, Queenie,” I said. “Now you can go to sleep in peace. Mr. O’Mara will be staying.”

I noticed the twinkle in her eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“To protect us,” I added.

I think I heard her chuckling as she went off to bed. I undressed in the bathroom, changing into my new silk pajamas and came back to find Darcy had shed his dinner jacket and tie and was lying on one of the beds. One small table lamp gave the room a cozy glow.

“You look very smart,” he said. “Did you buy those in case Craig Hart came to visit?”

“Shut up about Craig Hart,” I said. “I do believe you were jealous.”

“Just a little.”

I went over and perched on the bed beside him. “You never have to be, you know. There is only one man in my life.”

“And to think you’re sitting on my bed, in baby blue silk pajamas and I’m going to refrain from doing anything more than kissing you good night—you must have turned me into a reformed character.”

I bent over him and kissed his forehead. “You know I’d marry you now and be happy in a flat in Bayswater.”

“But I wouldn’t be happy, and neither would you in the long run. You have a right to live the sort of life you were supposed to live, Georgie. Nice big house in the country. Plenty of servants. Your proper station in life. I’m not going to make you into a domestic drudge.” His arm came around my shoulder. “That’s why that role in the film seemed like such a great opportunity. I’d have been paid handsomely. Maybe I’d have become a film star and made enough to keep you in the style you deserve.”

“And every woman in the world would have thrown herself at you. I saw the way Stella was looking at you. These actors don’t hold to the same moral code as people like us. Look at my mother! So I’m glad the film probably won’t be finished now.”

“In a way so am I,” he said. “I’d have looked really silly in tights.” He pulled me down beside him and I snuggled against his cheek. He leaned across and turned out the light. I gave a sigh of contentment. Then he said, “Georgie, would you mind sleeping in the other bed. I have been a saint for too long. And you’re lying against me in thin silk pajamas and I’m only human.”

“I really wouldn’t mind,” I whispered.

“I would,” he said. “We’ve waited this long. You’ve turned me down before because your conscience wouldn’t let you, so I want to make sure that our first time is perfect—right time, right place and no interruptions.”