A Most Novel Revenge (17 page)

“Yes.”

“Rather an unfortunate coincidence.” His tone implied it might be more than that, but I refused to be baited.

“Yes. Tragic.”

We looked at one another expectantly.

Luckily, it was at just this moment that Laurel came charging into the room. “Amory, I … Oh, excuse me.”

Inspector Laszlo turned and, seeing my cousin, rose quickly to his feet.

“Please don't let me disturb you,” she said. “I didn't mean to interrupt. A maid told me Amory had come this way, but I didn't know that she was speaking with you, Inspector Laszlo.”

She smiled at him, and his demeanor relaxed perceptibly.

“He was just questioning me about the other murders in my past,” I said, before he could reply.

Inspector Laszlo's mouth tightened ever so slightly.

“Oh, yes,” Laurel said sadly, walking a bit farther into the room. “Poor dear Amory. It was so very trying for her, but she solved the cases, you know. She's very clever. Of course, I'm certain that you are handling this matter admirably, Inspector.”

She smiled brightly at him. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he flushed. The man was clearly smitten with my cousin. I began at once to determine how we might best use this to our advantage.

However, it seemed Laurel was well ahead of me on that score. “I know it's your duty to question everyone involved. Have you any other questions for me?”

She came and took a chair beside me without being invited. Inspector Laszlo looked momentarily as though he would like to object, but then he took his seat across from us.

“I was just trying to determine Miss Van Allen's whereabouts leading up to the murder. Have you anything further to add, Miss Ellison?” he asked.

Laurel shook her head. “Nothing more than what I told you yesterday. I hadn't seen Isobel since the night before … before it happened.”

“Well, then,” he said. “I suppose that will be all for now, Mrs. Ames. Miss Ellison.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Laurel beamed at him. “Please let us know if we can be of any further help.”

We rose then, and Laurel and I went out of the room arm in arm.

“You're rather a wonder,” I said, when we were out of earshot. “You came to save me from that wretched man, and I am in your debt.”

She laughed. “I know you could have managed him on your own, but there is no use in prolonging your exposure to him if he annoys you.”

“You like him,” I said, hoping it didn't sound like an accusation.

She shrugged, but a smile pulled at her lips. “He's very earnest, very sure of himself. I find that attractive.”

“And how is Reggie holding up?” I asked pointedly.

“Dearest, you're not very subtle are you? Reggie isn't well. But he hasn't been since the war, not really. I'm afraid for him. I thought that Edwin Green's death might be too much for him. Now that Isobel is dead, too…” She sighed. “His nerves are shot all to pieces.”

“Do you think he might have done it?” I asked.

I knew Laurel's instinct would be to protest at once. Reggie was, after all, one of her oldest friends, and she would feel the desire to defend him. She was also just-minded, however, and she gave the question proper consideration.

“I don't think so,” she said at last. “I … I don't really know him anymore. It's been so long since everything happened, but I don't
think
he would have done it.”

“He said at the dinner table that night that he would kill her before she wrote another book,” I said quietly. I wondered if anyone had mentioned as much to Inspector Laszlo.

“It was the type of thing people say when they're angry,” Laurel said. “He shouldn't have said it, but I don't think he meant it. Oh, I've thought about it, believe me. It isn't only that I like to think he is still the sweet, caring boy I knew so many years ago. I just don't know if he's capable of it. If he had done it, I don't think that he could have stabbed her. He can't bear the sight of blood. Surely he would have chosen some other way.”

“If not Reggie, then who?” I asked.

“I feel wretched speculating,” she said, glancing around and lowering her voice. “But I can't help but wonder if it might have been Beatrice.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully. “It may be nothing more than that I think she is the type of woman who would be able to do it.”

It was not a very definite theory, but I supposed it was as good as any. Although I thought that the crime seemed more one of spontaneous fury than cold calculation, I could not rule out Beatrice Kline as a suspect. She had been very quick to point the finger at Mr. Roberts. Had she been trying to hide her own involvement?

“Do you think Beatrice had something to do with Edwin Green's death?”

“I've thought about that,” Laurel said, “and I don't see why she would have wanted to. After all, she needn't have killed him to rid herself of him; she might just have rejected his suit and sent him on his way. If she did kill Isobel, I think it was not so much because of what Isobel was going to write, but because of what she already did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Beatrice took it very personally when Isobel wrote
The Dead of Winter
. It was, after all, insinuated that one man killed the other over her affections. Then Bradford killed himself, which seemed to confirm it.”

“What happened between Beatrice and Bradford?” I asked. This was something I had wondered about. They had obviously parted ways after the tragedy, so I assumed that Beatrice had not been in love with him.

“She never spoke with him again after it happened, so far as I know. I did wonder if she knew something about him that the rest of us didn't, for I remember that things seemed uneasy between them on the night Edwin died. It struck me that there was something in the way that she looked at him when she didn't know others were watching, warily, as though she didn't quite trust him.”

I wondered if she had been worried about what he might do to Edwin Green. Perhaps that was why she had wanted nothing further to do with him after Edwin's death.

Another possibility occurred to me. Perhaps they had parted ways because her heart had been broken by Edwin's death, and she had not wished to pursue her flirtation with Bradford any further.

“Did she love Edwin, do you think?” I asked.

“I don't think so, not deeply, at any rate. After all, she married another man not six months after the scandal. I think she enjoyed their attentions, but I don't know that it was anything serious. Of course, I could be wrong.”

It was just so difficult to tell. Laurel was right. Beatrice was cool and calculating. I thought that she might easily be the kind of woman who would wait for her revenge.

I was about to ask my cousin what she thought had become of the murder weapon, when I was suddenly interrupted by a loud scream coming from somewhere upstairs.

 

15

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”

Laurel and I rushed toward the stairs. As we reached the bottom, a maid appeared on the landing, wringing her hands. “He's fainted, madam,” she said. “He came out of his room, pale as death, and fell on the floor. Oh, is he dead? I hope he's not dead!”

I rushed up the stairs, Laurel right behind me and, reaching the first floor, was startled to see Mr. Roberts lying in the hallway outside of his door. The maid was right; his face was devoid of color and he was lying very still.

I knelt beside him, a bit afraid of what I would find. I desperately hoped the past was not repeating itself, and I was immensely relieved to see that he was breathing.

“Is he…?” Laurel asked.

“He's alive,” I said. “He's just passed out.”

I leaned closer, patting his arm. “Mr. Roberts?” I said softly. “Can you hear me?”

It seemed to me that his eyelids flickered ever so slightly, but his eyes did not open and he didn't stir.

Inspector Laszlo must have heard the scream as well, for he appeared suddenly behind us before I had even heard his footsteps on the stairs.

He knelt beside me and put a hand on Mr. Roberts's wrist.

He looked up at Laurel, his expression grim. “Someone had better ring for the doctor.”

*   *   *

INSPECTOR LASZLO AND
his sergeant managed to get Mr. Roberts back into his room and into his bed, though he had not yet regained consciousness. Having made sure the maid had done as bidden, Laurel and I went down to await the arrival of the doctor.

“I do hope he's all right,” she said. She looked at me, asking what was on both of our minds. “You don't suppose this has anything to do with Isobel's murder?”

“I don't know. He's been terribly upset about her death. Perhaps he was merely overwrought. He's been ill and hasn't been eating, so perhaps that was it.”

“Do you really think so?”

I sighed. “I wish I knew.”

“I just hope that another tragedy doesn't befall us,” she said. “I suppose I had better find Reggie before he hears of this and becomes alarmed. He doesn't need anything else upsetting him.”

The doctor arrived at last and was ushered into Mr. Roberts's room. I followed him upstairs, wishing there was something more I could do. I hated it when there was nothing to be done but wait.

I wondered briefly where Milo had taken himself off to this morning, but did not have long to ponder it. Inspector Laszlo came out a moment later.

“Is Mr. Roberts all right?” I asked.

“He's regained consciousness,” he said. “There doesn't seem to be any lasting damage.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Did he say what happened?”

“He's been quite ill,” Inspector Laszlo said tersely. “The doctor says he must be in need of fluids.”

I frowned. Both he and Isobel had been ill. Was it possible that it had something to do with the murder? I reminded myself not to jump to conclusions. It was much more likely that they had both merely contracted the same illness. After all, they were in close contact with one another.

Inspector Laszlo must have noticed my thoughtful silence, for he said, “Is there something you would like to tell me, Mrs. Ames?”

I looked up at him. I knew our relationship had not gotten off to the best start, but perhaps there was still time to mend it. “I heard that there was poison discovered in Mr. Roberts's room.”

His brows rose. “Did you? Where did you hear that?”

“The servants talk,” I said. “One of them saw it.”

His face went suddenly blank, and I thought for a moment he was not going to say anything else. Then he sighed. “There was a vial of what was thought to be poison in Mr. Roberts's room, but it was not what caused either Miss Van Allen or Mr. Roberts to be ill.”

“How do you know?” I pressed.

“Because the poison in his room was cyanide. The symptoms are not consistent. Death would have been nearly instantaneous if taken in any significant quantities, and the vial appears to be full.”

That was certainly a good reason. It raised a number of other questions, however.

“Why would he have such a thing in his possession?” I asked, forgetting in my excitement that Inspector Laszlo would likely be unreceptive to my questions.

He seemed to make note of my eagerness, but answered nonetheless. “A very good question, and one you can be sure I asked him. He claims they used cyanide as a fumigant on the ship they took from Africa, and he obtained a vial to use for similar purposes, as he had heard Lyonsgate had long been uninhabited.”

What a ridiculous lie.

“That seems rather unlikely,” I said.

“Indeed,” he replied. “But not something you should concern yourself with, Mrs. Ames.”

“Oh, certainly not,” I replied quickly.

He looked at me as though he was not at all fooled, and I wondered again if I had underestimated Inspector Laszlo.

“I'm going to go speak to my sergeant. Perhaps you had better have some tea and rest after your ordeal this morning.”

I managed to bite my tongue in the face of his patronizing manner and offer him a tight smile as he walked away.

The encounter had left me with more questions than answers. I did not for a moment believe Mr. Roberts had possessed the poison for fumigation purposes. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Isobel Van Allen had not been poisoned to death. Whatever the cyanide had really been meant for, it had not been put to use.

I found it hard to believe that Mr. Roberts had possessed it for some nefarious purpose. He seemed a harmless, confused young man, and I hoped that he would be able to recover from all of this and have a happy life. I hoped the doctor was giving him a thorough examination and could help with whatever ailment he had.

Was it, I wondered suddenly, the same doctor who had been called to the scene of Edwin Green's death? If so, this might provide an ideal opportunity to speak to him.

I went to the door of Mr. Roberts's room and stood outside. Unfortunately, Winnelda had been correct. The wood was much too solid to hear anything going on inside. I could not even discern the sound of voices.

It was not that I wanted to eavesdrop upon the details of Mr. Roberts's ailment. Though I was concerned about him, I had no wish to invade his privacy in that matter. However, I did want a chance to talk to the doctor. I wondered when he would come out. I didn't want to miss him, but I also wondered how I could approach him without seeming overly curious.

I stepped back, wondering what I should do next. I decided to hover about in the hallway and see if he made an appearance. I would think of some plausible reason for wanting to speak with him.

I was rewarded for my patience a few moments later when the door opened and a tall, stout gentleman stepped into the hallway. I approached him at once.