Murder Most Malicious (26 page)

“Thank you.”

Eva turned about and left them, though she burned to stay and hear Mr. Phelps's answers to what he was sure to consider exceedingly impertinent questions. But the constable closed the office door. She was even tempted to press her ear to the wood. She couldn't help but wonder why the policeman had confided in her. Was he gauging her reaction and judging whether she knew more about the matter than she admitted? Could Mr. Phelps truly be a suspect? She supposed that depended upon how much he lost in his investment. The prospect should have brought her a renewed sense of optimism for Vernon, yet despite Mr. Phelps's condescending and often infuriating attitudes, he was still a member of this household and she didn't wish him to be guilty either. It was a situation where there could be no happy outcome.

And then there was Connie, still missing . . .

“What was all that about?” Nick asked when she returned to the valet's service room.

She very nearly blurted out the gist of her conversation with Constable Brannock. He hadn't sworn her to secrecy, yet her silence in the matter had seemed implied. Once taken into someone's confidence—anyone's confidence—Eva would not betray their trust. It was a simple code she had learned from her father.

“Nothing, really,” she said. “He just wanted to verify a couple of points. Nothing that seemed as if it would help Vernon.”

Unless, of course, the Victory Bond investments proved motivation enough for murder.

 

“He's never going to be found. Heaven help me, it's time I accepted it.” Lady Allerton dissolved into sobs and collapsed onto the Grecian bench on the half landing of the staircase.

Phoebe and her siblings stopped halfway down the lower steps and turned around to see Grams sink beside their guest and speak quietly in Lady Allerton's ear. Lady Allerton raised a hand as if to push Grams away but stopped just short of doing so. Grampapa had come to an uncertain halt a few steps above them, his usual calm features a jumble of confusion. He looked down at Phoebe and her sisters and raised his hands in defeat. He obviously had no idea what to do or say. What reassurances could he possibly offer?

From below them in the Grand Hall, Theo groaned and clutched the bannister. He re-climbed the steps and sat stiffly at his mother's other side. “You know, Mother, this isn't going to help Henry.”

“But it's all so hopeless,” she wailed. Beside Phoebe, Amelia flinched. Julia, however, continued down to the hall and murmured something to Lord Owen that Phoebe couldn't distinguish.

“Come now, Mother.” Theo gripped Lady Allerton's hand none too gently and came to his feet. “We're going downstairs for dinner and we are not going to give up on Henry.”

At his prompting, Lady Allerton slowly stood. “Theo, don't you believe he's most certainly . . . gone?”

“What I believe, Mother, is that whatever has befallen Henry, we can't change it by falling apart.”

“He does have a point, dear,” Lady Cecily called up from the Grand Hall. “And you know how Henry despises displays of maudlin sentimentality.”

“He'd depend on you to set an example for others,” Grams added.

“Good heavens, yes, yes, you're quite right.” The marchioness gave herself a shake. “Nothing can be gained from losing our heads. One must always maintain one's dignity, my father always said. Maude, Archibald, do forgive me.”

“Think nothing of it, Lucille. Already forgotten.” Grampapa descended to the half landing and offered an arm both to Lady Allerton and to Grams, who came to her feet with a weary sigh. “A fine man, your father. Shall we?”

He sent a look down to the others, one that indicated the crisis was over and time to disperse. Lord Owen and Julia were already heading for the library, she on his arm and looking quite comfortable there, Phoebe noted with a pang she didn't care to examine too closely. Fox surprised her by offering her his own arm.

She regarded him with surprise. “Thank you, Fox.”

He snickered, and said in an undertone, “So where have you been sneaking off to lately? And with the servants, I might add. Searching for Henry? Or do you already know where he is?”

She might have known he hadn't suddenly blossomed into a considerate young gentleman. She shrugged. “No, I don't know where Henry is, but I had a hunch I decided to investigate and yes, Eva came with me. Why wouldn't she? Unfortunately we found nothing.”

“Where did you look?”

She saw no reason not to tell him. “The gamekeeper's cottage. But it was empty, except for some old equipment.”

“Eva wasn't the only servant following along. I saw Henry's valet, too. Don't deny it.” They reached the library, but rather than release Eva, Fox gripped her wrist. “Why did you need Henry's valet along?”

“I didn't particularly, but I thought a third pair of eyes might come in handy. Besides, Mr. Hensley was able to open the door of the gamekeeper's cottage when I couldn't.” She left out the part about breaking the lock. Fox didn't need to know that.

“You're up to something.”

“I'm not, Fox. Don't be ridiculous. If I can do anything to help Vernon I will, but I am not ‘up' to anything nefarious.” She gave a vicious yank that freed her hand, only to turn and notice Theo hovering behind them in the doorway and watching them intently. Had he been eavesdropping? The others ranged themselves around the fireplace, this time lit with an enthusiastic blaze. Why had Theo lingered on the threshold?

Phoebe decided she didn't care; what did it matter if Theo heard or not? She'd done nothing wrong, and neither had Eva nor Mr. Hensley. And for their pains they had discovered nothing—surely nothing worthy of eavesdropping.

And yet as Fox sauntered away from her, Theo remained where he was, his brow furrowed. Phoebe followed his line of sight and saw only their reflections in the darkened windowpanes.

“Phoebe, why are you loitering alone in the middle of the room?” Grams motioned to her. “Do come and sit.”

With a last glance at Theo, Phoebe took a seat on the wide ottoman Grampapa would normally have propped his feet on when settling in with a book. Though intent on ignoring Theo, she couldn't help glancing up at the doorway again. He was gone.

Gone without a word. What could spur a man—even Theo—to behave in so ill-mannered a fashion? Especially knowing his mother's frame of mind. Had Phoebe and Fox's talk of Henry upset him? Or . . .

Had mention of the gamekeeper's cottage set off some kind of alarm only he could hear? The garden-facing windows had suddenly become an object of fascination for him, and what was out there but the footprints that led to the woods . . . and ultimately, perhaps, to the gamekeeper's cottage.

The more Phoebe considered, the more her heart raced and her ears rang, until she no longer heard the conversation around her.

“Phoebe? Phoebe!” Julia snapped her fingers. “I asked you about your plans to start up a new aid project for veterans and their families. Now the war is over, don't you think people will wish to focus their energies elsewhere?”

“I'm sorry, Phoebe,” Amelia put in quickly, a worried look on her face, “was I not supposed to mention it?”

“Just please don't tell me you intend driving lorries again.” Grams pursed her lips. “That was all very well during the war, but I should think you'd wish to return to more, well, normal pursuits now life has settled down. Archibald, don't you agree Phoebe should focus her attentions on more refined activities?”

“First things first,” Fox mumbled into his cravat. “Let's get her married off.”

Ordinarily Phoebe might have pinched him, but tonight the comment hardly registered, nor did Grams's observation: “Yes, as a married woman you may choose any charities you wish.”

“Not to interfere, but . . .” Sitting in the Louis XV armchair across from Phoebe, Lord Owen casually crossed one leg over the other. “There is a great need among veterans and their families, so many of whom have been left with few or no means of earning a livelihood. On their behalf, I commend Lady Phoebe for her generosity and I do hope, Lord and Lady Wroxly, that you'll support the endeavor.”

For the first time, Owen Seabright's attentions didn't send a blush creeping into Phoebe's cheeks. On one level she silently thanked him, yet at the same time she dismissed his encouragement while her own thoughts bandied about her brain. Then she was on her feet.

“Excuse me, everyone. I'll be back. I . . .” She never finished the sentence, didn't know how she
would
have finished the sentence, and in fact forgot she left a roomful of gaping individuals as soon as she crossed the threshold.

She found Eva below in the kitchen, wrapped in a starched white apron as she helped Mrs. Ellison and Dora fill the serving platters with the night's dinner. Phoebe's arrival brought a look of horror to Mrs. Ellison's face.

“Lady Phoebe! Are we late bringing dinner up?” The cook's reddening complexion made a startling contrast to her own white apron and cap.

“No, Mrs. Ellison, everything is fine upstairs. I realize you're very busy, but may I borrow Eva for a few moments?”

“Of course, my lady. I'm only sorry I have her ladling soup and spooning out potatoes. No fit work for a lady's maid, to be sure, but with Connie missing . . .”

Eva placed the ladle on a trivet beside the copper soup pot and placed the lid on the porcelain tureen. “I told you I don't mind helping out, Mrs. Ellison.” She crossed the room to Phoebe. “What is this about, my lady? Not more ill news I hope.”

“Come with me.” Phoebe took her hand and brought her into the valet's service room, where she judged they'd have the most privacy. “Something most peculiar happened just now in the library,” she said in a rush. “Fox began interrogating me as to where you and Mr. Hensley and I were going the other day, and I saw no reason not to tell him I'd decided to have a look about the gamekeeper's cottage.”

“Well and good, my lady. There was nothing to hide about that, I suppose.”

“No, you wouldn't think so. But then I noticed Lord Theodore listening in. He became very distracted, lost in thought, and then he disappeared without a word to anyone. Just turned around and left the library without a by-your-leave. What do you make of that?”

“Are you sure the gamekeeper's cottage was the cause of his distraction?”

“There couldn't have been anything else. He was fine before that. Even when his mother nearly broke down as we were all coming downstairs, he persuaded her that losing their heads wouldn't help her eldest son. He seemed rational and in control, only to behave most irrationally minutes later. The only thing that occurred between the two incidents was my conversation with Fox. I
knew
the cottage played a significant part in all this, and now it seems I was right.”

Eva paused to take this in, then said, “What do you propose we do about it?”

“First thing in the morning we need to reexamine the cottage. We must have missed something vital.”

“But, my lady, assuming you're correct, Lord Theodore might even now be on his way back to the cottage to dispose of any evidence he left behind.”

“Goodness, Eva, you're right. But to stumble around the woods in the dark . . . We should telephone Constable Brannock. Except I very much doubt he'll take me seriously. Perhaps if you called . . .”

“He was here earlier. Too bad he left already.”

“Excuse me, but did I just hear mention of the old gamekeeper's cottage?”

Phoebe whirled about to see Mr. Giles standing in the doorway, and she could have bitten her tongue for having spoken in so unguarded a fashion. But suddenly she realized her incaution could yield a benefit.

“Mr. Giles, you've been at Foxwood for ages, haven't you?”

“Indeed, my lady. I came as an under footman many years ago. In those days, many more servants were employed in the running of the house. Footmen and parlor maids aplenty, practically one for each room, and a host of underlings to assist. Ah, but times have changed, haven't they? That kind of extravagant living is no longer the way of things, more's the pity—”

“Mr. Giles,” Phoebe interrupted, “can you tell me anything about the gamekeeper's cottage? For instance, are there any . . . well . . . secret storage nooks. Anything like that?”

“Well, when I first came to Foxwood, the gamekeeper lived in the older cottage to the west. A cramped, drafty old place it was. And then the additional storage cellars were built here in the main house, which meant he needn't live there any longer.”

Oh dear, Phoebe thought. Was poor Mr. Giles becoming confused again? She traded a glance with Eva, who frowned slightly. “What do the storage cellars have to do with the gamekeeper's cottage?”

“We no longer needed to store the winter produce in the old root cellar.”

Phoebe resisted the urge to press her palms to her temples in frustration. She asked as calmly as she could, “What root cellar, Mr. Giles?”

“Why, the one beneath the present gamekeeper's cottage. The whole place was once used, as I said, to—”

“To store the winter produce,” Phoebe and Eva echoed at the same time. They both gasped, and Phoebe's heart thundered. “Where is this root cellar, Mr. Giles?”

“Just to the left of the storage entrance doors. But it's well covered over. Your grandfather insisted there be no chance of accidents, nor of mischievous young boys taking it into their heads to play underground. Your father was an adventurous youth, to say the least, my lady, and he—”