Murder Most Malicious (11 page)

That last came from Miss Shea herself, who had joined Nick Hensley in peering out from the service room. For the briefest moment Eva wondered what tasks had brought Nick to that room, where he typically would have brushed his employer's suits and polished his shoes. Then she remembered. With the marquess gone, his younger brother, Theodore, would take over the title, with all the privileges—and servants—that went along with it.

She waited until Inspector Perkins reached the bottom of the stairs. “I promise I won't keep Constable Brannock waiting but a moment.”

“Sorry, it's against regulation.”

He didn't sound at all sorry. If she was going to get any kind of favor out of this man, she would have to make him believe it would be to his advantage. She steeled herself and thought quickly. “Inspector Perkins, Vernon trusts me. Perhaps I can . . . learn something important, something he wouldn't readily tell you.”

The inspector regarded her, a pensive frown growing deeper with each laboring breath he drew. Then he nodded. “Hmm . . . you might at that. See if you can't get him to confess, Miss Huntford. Make things easier on him, and on all of us. I should like to have this matter cleaned up by the New Year. A foul business, this.”

Eva bit back a cry of exasperation. It was as if the man were speaking of mucking out the stables. Dredging up her patience, she said, “May I speak with him alone . . . in Mr. Giles's office?”

“Are there windows in that room?”

“Windows?” Did he think she might help Vernon escape? “The only windows are high up at ground level and too narrow for a man to fit through. Hardly convenient for making a getaway. Besides, you've got him handcuffed.”

“So we do. All right. A few minutes. And”—he leaned in closer, bringing the rancid odors of spirits and cigars to sting her nose—“do utilize all your feminine wiles to persuade him to confess. And to tell us what he did with the rest of the marquess.”

Eva fisted her hands and all but bit her tongue to keep from retorting. She thanked him, but before she moved away, he said, “Thank you, by the way, for your assistance with Miss Robson.”

“My assistance? I only provided her with a bit of moral support.”

He grinned and wagged a forefinger in the air. “So you did. Were it not for that, I fear we'd not have gotten a peep out of her. As it is, she rather neatly stitched up this case for me.”

“But, Inspector Perkins, nothing she said provided any proof of anything.”

“Didn't it? She provided us with the motive.” He leaned closer still. Eva recoiled, but he seemed not to notice. “And she told us the footman himself hid the cleaver in his room. I may not be through with our Miss Robson, so see she doesn't go running off. It's highly likely she conspired with Mr. Vernon to rid herself of Lord Allerton's unwanted attentions.”

Anger engulfed Eva. “I do not believe that.”

“Never mind. I'll speak with Mrs. Sanders about keeping close watch on the girl.”

“Inspector Perkins, don't. Please. Mrs. Sanders doesn't know yet of the connection between Connie and Vernon. The moment she hears of it she'll send Connie packing.”

“Is that my problem?”

Eva fisted her hands to stop her fingers trembling with rage. “It's positively arctic outside. With nowhere to go, she'll freeze to death. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“Relax, Miss Huntford. Lord Wroxly has no intentions of allowing the girl to be sacked. Yet. Besides, I need her here while I gather enough evidence against her to put her away. She won't freeze to death in a jail cell, now will she?” With that he let go a nasty laugh and stalked away.

“That heartless man,” she murmured under her breath. “Justice will never be done with him in charge.”

Outside Mr. Giles's office, Constable Brannock called after his employer. “Do you wish me go inside with them, sir?”

Eva held her breath. She wished to speak with Vernon alone.

The inspector gave a flick of his hand. “Just stand guard at the door. Did you remember to load your weapon this morning?”

Eva didn't wait for the answer. Grasping Vernon by the upper arm, she walked him into the office and closed the door.

“Are you all right?”

He stared back as if she had taken leave of her senses.

“I mean . . . I don't know what I mean. I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. What I mean is . . .” Again, she didn't know how to continue, except to ask a blunt question. “Vernon . . . George . . . did you have anything to do with Lord Allerton's disappearance?”

“Are you a policeman now, Miss Huntford?”

“No, but I simply don't believe you're guilty. You aren't, are you?”

“What difference would it make either way?”

“It makes a world of difference! An innocent man must be exonerated.”

“And how do you propose to do that? I've already declared my innocence and told them what I know. I cooperated, and see where it got me.”

“Please sit.” She again grasped his upper arm and helped him keep his balance as he lowered himself onto the wooden-backed settee against the wall. She sat beside him. “It's true I don't believe you're guilty. But I do think you tried to withhold certain information from the inspector, and that is why you're in this position.”

He glowered at her from beneath his brows.

“You were trying to protect Connie.”

The scowl persisted, and he hesitated so long she didn't think he would answer at all, but then he said, “None of this is her fault.”

“No, I agree. What can you tell me about the hours before Lord Allerton was discovered missing? We know you rose early to help Connie.”

“They think I murdered him to protect her.” He spoke with his head down, but now it swung upward, and louder he said, “And maybe I would have. Don't think I didn't consider it. Give the bugger exactly what he deserved—”

The door burst open and the inspector stopped short on the threshold, his chest heaving and his rotund belly bouncing. “Was that a confession?”

“No, Inspector Perkins, that was not. Please give us another moment.” It was all she could do to stop herself from chiding him for eavesdropping.

“Very well.” He stepped out and the constable reached in to close the door.

She lowered her voice. “Now, then, while you were helping Connie with her chores, did you see the marquess at all?”

“No.”

“And what did you do once Connie's chores were complete?”

He blew out a breath. “I hurried upstairs with the broken cleaver so I could take it to town later. I swear, Miss Huntford, that's the only reason the cleaver was under that floorboard.”

“Oh, Vernon, I wish you'd told the constable about that in the first place. You should have spoken up as soon as Mrs. Ellison discovered the cleaver missing. Why did you keep silent then?”

“I never thought anyone would find it under the floorboard. It's Boxing Day, and no one should have been working all afternoon. I'd already called down to the cutler in the village and he said he could change the handle this very day. Then I'd have sneaked it back into the kitchen this evening. That would have been the end of it. I didn't think Mrs. Ellison would notice it missing today of all days.”

Tears filled his eyes. Eva pretended not to notice and hurried on. “All right, then. After you hid the cleaver, what did you do next?”

“I already told the inspector, Miss Huntford. I ate breakfast—you saw me in the dining hall—and afterward I went upstairs to bring in the hot water for Lord Theodore's morning shave.”

“You were serving as his valet, weren't you? Doesn't he have his own?”

“No, Lord Theodore doesn't keep a valet. The head footman at the Leightons' estate serves him just as I've been doing here. Word has it he can't afford a valet, and his brother wouldn't increase his allowance for one.”

A marquess who denies his brother the luxury of a valet? Interesting. Eva stored that information away for later. “Did he speak to you at all while you shaved him?”

“Barely a word. He had a rough look about him, like he hadn't slept much. Maybe like he'd been drinking, although there was no smell of spirits hanging about him. He'd sent me away that night, said he wouldn't be needing my services. And in the morning—I told the inspector this—he hadn't changed out of his clothes from the night before.”

Eva fell silent as she digested this information. Both Lord Allerton and his brother sent their valets away last night. If Lord Theodore hadn't changed for bed, could it be because he never
went
to bed? Then where was he all night? With whom? Beneath her sturdy broadcloth sleeves, gooseflesh swept her arms.

“What did Inspector Perkins say when you told him this?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘If a toff wishes to sleep in his clothes, what's it to me?' ”

She felt a spark of outrage on Vernon's behalf. “Did he not stop to consider—” She broke off, realizing that kind of rhetorical question wouldn't solve a thing.

“He thinks I deserve to hang. Guilty or not.”

“Why would you say that? I'm sure he doesn't feel that way. He's merely trying to do his job . . .” She trailed off, wondering why she felt the need to defend an inspector who would arrest a man on such poor evidence.

Vernon shook his head. “It's on account of my not having served in the war. He called me a shirker. Said I have no business demanding justice after being too cowardly to defend my country.”

Eva gasped. “He did not! Oh, Vernon, how awful. Didn't you tell him about your medical exemption? Your heart, wasn't it?”

“Irregular heartbeat, the doctors said.” He made a disgusted face. “I told him. He called it a convenient excuse. Said if my brother was fit enough to serve, I certainly should have been.”

“Oh, Vernon,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say. She understood Vernon's grief, for like him she, too, had lost a brother. But she could not share in Vernon's guilt at having seen his brother off to war when he himself could not go, only to discover that brother would never return.

So many men . . . so many
boys.

A rap on the door came; then it opened. Constable Brannock poked his head in. “I'm afraid time is up. The inspector gave me the order to escort Mr. Vernon to the village.”

For one furious moment Eva wanted to seize Constable Brannock by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know how
he
came through the war so utterly unscathed. But her anger receded as quickly as it had risen. For all she knew, Mr. Brannock, like Vernon, had some hidden physical defect that had kept him from the fighting, or some other hardship that had rendered him ineligible. Or perhaps he had fought after all. Some men—precious few—had somehow managed to escape injury.

How ironic that Lord Allerton had been one of those lucky few.

Sighing, she came to her feet and helped Vernon to his, a task made difficult by his wrists pinioned behind him. “This isn't the end of the matter,” she told him, not caring if Constable Brannock heard or not. In fact, she hoped he did. She hoped he saw that others had faith in George Vernon and were not prepared to give him up to the gallows. The fact that she had little to base that faith on other than having observed the young man's good character these past several years did not for a moment cause her to falter in her opinion.

Vernon hesitated before setting his feet in motion. “Please don't do anything that will get Connie sacked.”

Eva touched his sleeve. “You care about her very much.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor and left with the constable.

C
HAPTER
6

T
hrough her dressing-table mirror, Phoebe watched Eva pin up her hair and affix the mother-of-pearl combs. Eva had already helped her into her dinner dress, a simply-draped chemise of sapphire silk with an overlay of satin netting that swirled about her ankles. Dinner would not be a sumptuous affair tonight, and Lady Allerton might not even descend from her room. Under the circumstances, and were Henry her son, Phoebe didn't think she'd have much appetite either.

“Lady Allerton was splendidly brave about the whole thing, once she got over her faint,” Phoebe said.

“Yes, her ladyship is holding up most admirably, considering.”

“I wonder how poor Vernon is faring. Grampapa has arranged for meals to be brought to him. He can't bring himself to believe Vernon is guilty either. I hope that helps make his confinement rather easier to bear.”

“I'm sure it will, my lady, both the meals and Lord Wroxly's faith in him. Douglas brought his supper down about an hour ago. He should be back by now and ready to serve in the dining room, so I'll ask how Vernon appeared to him.”

“Be sure to tell me what he says.” She reached into the jewelry cask Eva placed on the dressing table before her. “Something simple.” Her fingers lingered over a string of jet and vulcanite beads. “No, these would suggest mourning, and we aren't yet certain of Lord Allerton's fate. Mother's scent bottle necklace, I think.” She selected a simple gold chain holding a tiny flask decorated with an art nouveau pattern of marcasite and amethyst stones.

“A good choice, my lady.” Eva slipped the necklace around Phoebe's neck and fixed the clasp.

Through the mirror, her mother's necklace glinted pinpoints of light. Phoebe sighed at her reflection. “It seems silly to be dressing for dinner at all. Even before Lord Allerton disappeared, I'd been thinking how stuck in the old ways we are here. The war changed so much. I've heard that in London girls go about alone, or accompanied by their beaux. They go to music clubs and the cinema and shopping all on their own, or with friends, without a chaperone in sight. And no one thinks anything of it.”

Eva let go a quiet laugh as she stepped back to inspect her handiwork on Phoebe's hair. “I suspect there are many people thinking a great many things about what some young women are doing nowadays. And I equally suspect precious few of those young ladies hail from families such as yours, my lady.”

“Pish. Sometimes I wish Grampapa were a barrister or a physician, or even a baker.”

Eva laughed again. “I'm afraid we all have our crosses to bear, my lady.”

Phoebe joined in her laughter. Eva was quite correct. It served no purpose to lament one's lot in life, especially for someone as fortunate as she. Despite what she often perceived as restrictions or silly traditions, she knew hers was a privileged existence and she had no right complaining. Not when so many families across England struggled to scrape together the pieces of their lives, torn apart and scattered by the war.

And not when young men such as George Vernon made convenient suspects for crimes without a shred of evidence, merely because he lacked a fortune and pedigree.

She went to sit on the bed, leaning against one of the posts supporting the brocade and velvet canopy. “Come and sit, Eva. We need a plan to help Vernon.”

Eva hesitated before perching stiffly at the edge of the mattress. Phoebe hid a smile. No matter how familiar or friendly they often became, it was always Eva rather than she who maintained the invisible barrier between them. Another silly tradition, wherein one person could be seen as having been born superior to someone else. True enough that some people were stronger, faster, more clever, or more beautiful. That was nature at work. But to be better than others simply because one bears a title—what utter nonsense. Phoebe hoped such notions dissipated along with the lingering ashes of the war.

She absently fingered the chain looped around her neck. “I've been thinking about what Vernon told you concerning Lord Theodore. It's odd, his having sent Vernon away when he retired, and then sleeping in his clothes. I'd like to know more about Lord Theodore's whereabouts last night. I was up rather late myself, but I never saw him.”

“It could be nothing,” Eva pointed out with a shrug.

“Or it could be something. I wonder . . . Lord Allerton kept tight reins on the family's money and often treated his younger brother like a poor relation. . . .”

“That reminds me of something else Vernon said. It was the reason Vernon was serving as Lord Theodore's valet. He said Lord Theodore had no valet of his own because Lord Allerton wouldn't give him sufficient allowance for one.”

Phoebe nodded slowly. “Yes, so you see, Lord Theodore had reason to resent his brother. And since returning from the war, Theo's become so aloof . . . so indifferent to everyone around him.”

Rather like Julia,
she thought.

“Do you believe Theodore Leighton is capable of murder, my lady?”

“That, Eva, is precisely the question. Did Lord Theodore often want to wrap his hands around his brother's throat? I wouldn't doubt it.” Phoebe herself had contemplated doing just that in the drawing room last night. She believed Henry inspired the sentiment in a good number of people. “But the question remains, is he capable of such an act?”

“I don't know that I wish
you
to be the person to answer that question, my lady.” Eva's hand came up, hovered in the air a moment, then descended tenderly on Phoebe's cheek. “In fact, I'm quite sure I do
not
want you answering that question.”

Phoebe leaned into the warmth of Eva's palm, remembering the feel of another comforting hand, that of her mother, gone these eleven years. If she inhaled deeply enough, Eva's light soap almost transformed into the lavender oil her mother had favored.

She lifted her face. Eva was not her mother for all she often slipped naturally into a maternal role. Only seven years older than Phoebe, she had dark hair where her mother's had been Phoebe's own auburn-tinged blond, and green eyes where her mother's had been blue with gold rims. With her softly pleasing features, glowing cheeks, and determined chin, Eva was pretty in that distinctly English way, whereas Mama.... Mama had looked much like Phoebe herself. Her features had been rather thin and plain, but with a kindliness and patience that made her nonetheless beautiful in Phoebe's eyes.

Eva was her maid, but also her friend, no matter the difference in their positions. A valued, beloved friend.

“I will be as careful as you would have me be, Eva, but if you and I do nothing to help Vernon, who will? Not Inspector Perkins. That much is obvious by the way he is all but patting himself on the back for having solved the case.”

“I'd hardly call it solving the case when Lord Allerton is still missing.”

“All the more reason to find the truth. Now, you'll ask questions downstairs?”

“I will.” Eva folded her hands in her lap and thought a moment. “There was something about the way Vernon held himself, how he responded to me. I can't quite explain it, but I believe he
is
hiding something. If the inspector senses it, too, it won't help Vernon's case.”

“Something to do with Connie, you think?”

“That could be, my lady, but I'm not sure. And then there is the cleaver, which Vernon admitted to hiding. This suggests there must have been another blade used on Lord Allerton. If it were found, it could exonerate Vernon.”

Phoebe pondered this a moment, but found a break in Eva's logic. “Possibly. But Inspector Perkins still believes Vernon had a strong motive.”

“Very true.” Eva's shoulders seemed to sink as she exhaled a long breath. “What is needed is someone else with a motive, but who? There is no one else in this household I can imagine carrying out such a brutal act on another person. And it would have to be someone with a deeply rooted grudge against Lord Allerton.”

“What about Mr. Hensley?”

“What? No, not him, my lady. I'm certain it's not him.”

Phoebe studied the high color staining Eva's cheeks. “Hmm. You didn't need to think about that at all, did you?” She smiled. “You know him rather well, I'd say.”

“My lady . . .”

“Go on, admit it.” She grinned at Eva's apparent embarrassment. “It's perfectly all right with me.”

“I assure you, there is nothing between Mr. Hensley and myself. In fact, he once courted my sister, Alice. It was briefly, and years ago, before he went into service for the marquess.”

“I remember when he worked here as gamekeeper's assistant, and then an under footman. But you weren't with us yet.”

“No, Mr. Hensley is a bit older than I. But we digress, my lady.”

“Yes, we do.” Phoebe leaned against the bedpost again. “But tell me, is your faith in Mr. Hensley based merely on past association?”

Eva shook her head. “Not only that, no. Mr. Hensley served in the war at the marquess's side. You know the kinds of bonds forged between soldiers. If Mr. Hensley had harbored a grudge against Lord Allerton, he might easily have arranged an incident on the battlefield.”

“Yes, quite right. But if neither Vernon nor Mr. Hensley, then who?”

“I can't see
any
of the staff having committed this act.” Eva's smooth brow puckered to a frown. “Not Vernon, nor Douglas, nor even persnickety Miss Shea.”

“Douglas can be rather grumpy when assigned a task he doesn't particularly relish. I've occasionally heard him muttering his resentment against Mr. Giles or Vernon when he thought no one could hear.”

“Douglas is all bluster, my lady.”

Phoebe nodded and blew out a breath. “But you and I are not necessarily searching for the guilty party. We are searching for overlooked clues that might exonerate Vernon and force the inspector to continue investigating. For all we know, an intruder might have committed the deed.”

“I should like to think so,” Eva conceded gravely. “Not that I wish to think of poor Lord Allerton being attacked by anyone, but to exonerate all who dwell beneath this roof, both above and below stairs, would be a blessing, wouldn't it, my lady?

Phoebe reached over and gave Eva's hand a squeeze of agreement.

 

Eva returned below stairs to the controlled chaos of a dozen or so men, all of whom she recognized from the village, searching through cupboards, storerooms, the cellar, and even the old bread oven built into the bake house walls, which hadn't been used in well over a decade. The search party and the staff performed a kind of frenetic dance as they circled and sidestepped one another. Josh, the hall boy, nearly collided with a village man while carrying kitchen trash out to the bins in the courtyard, and Mr. Giles, shorthanded now that Vernon was gone, dropped a full box of flatware when another man went scurrying by him without warning. Eva cringed at the resounding clatter of forks, spoons, and knives of all sizes showering the oak planks in the corridor.

Meanwhile, having returned from the village, Constable Brannock strode back and forth from group to group, issuing instructions, checking if anything—or anyone—had been found, and overseeing the proceedings.

Eva hurried into the boot room and deposited an armful of shoes and half boots onto the wooden table. They needed to be cleaned and polished before she went to bed tonight in order to be back in the dressing rooms of their respective owners and ready for use tomorrow. But her ladyships' shoes could wait another few minutes. She went back out to the corridor. Mr. Giles stood in the midst of the silverware, a perplexed frown on his face and no wonder. He was dressed in his formal frock coat and black tie, ready to serve dinner to the family. A sojourn on the floor, however brief, would leave his clothing wrinkled and the knees of his trousers dusty.

“Let me help you with that, Mr. Giles. So clumsy.” She knelt and began reaching for scattered cutlery.

“Yes, it was exceedingly inept of me.”

Eva paused to look up at Mr. Giles's lined face, still almost handsome for a man of his years; she guessed him to be close in age to Lord Wroxly. “I didn't mean you, Mr. Giles. I meant the oaf who nearly knocked you off your feet.”

That brought a smile. “Ah, indeed. One can only hope they'll soon be finished and out of our hair. So disruptive.” He reached for the butter knife she had just retrieved and studied it in the glow of the electric lights. “Good heavens, is that a scratch?”

He might as well have asked if one of Lady Wroxly's priceless diamonds had been damaged, for the horror that filled his eyes.

“Let me see.” Eva stood and took the knife from him, holding it up to the overhead light. She turned the knife to and fro, watching the reflections slide back and forth across the silver surface. “No, it must have been a bit of lint. Looks as smooth as the day it was made.” She knelt down again and nestled the knife with the rest of the set in the velvet-lined box. She collected the remaining flatware and handed Mr. Giles the box.

“Thank you, Eva. These knees of mine . . .”

“You've been working hard, Mr. Giles. And now without Vernon—”

“We've had to make do with a shorthanded staff these four years of war, Eva. We can endure a little longer until more can be hired.” He regarded the box in his hands, the flatware tossing glints of light over the planes of his face. “Now, to bring these into the silver room so Douglas can get to work polishing them.”

A frisson of alarm went through Eva. “But, Mr. Giles, it's nearly dinnertime. The food needs to be brought upstairs.” Her consternation grew. “Please tell me the table has been set, Mr. Giles.”