Arsenic at Ascot, page 15
My heart sank. I hoped he hadn’t been found leaving my flat. I knew I should have told Captain Hall. When he found out I’d harbored an enemy spy, especially the notorious Fredrick Fredricks, I’d be sacked for sure.
“Fredricks is in London?” My voice cracked. “I wonder what he’s up to now.” I closed my eyes. What was I doing, perpetuating a lie? Come on, Fiona, you’ve got to tell him. I bit my lip. I couldn’t.
As much as I hated Fredricks, I didn’t want him killed.
“As you already know, the War Office intercepted a telegram to his contact in London asking to meet him at Big Ben.” He knew that I knew about the telegram. Did he also know that I was the contact in London who was supposed to meet Fredricks?
I heard a match strike and then smelled foul cigarette smoke. No doubt, on the other side of the door, Archie was smoking and pacing. “The man sent to investigate winged him.” Archie scoffed. “Incompetent fool. I would have killed the bastard.”
The War Office—or the classified office—sent someone to investigate? A British agent had shot Fredricks. If so, it was a good thing I didn’t turn up at Big Ben at noon. “Fredricks was shot?” I feigned ignorance. So, he wasn’t faking it? My stomach churned. Archie had been trailing him around the globe for months and when he got another chance, he’d end the chase for good. If Archie saw Fredricks, he’d kill him. I had to warn Fredricks. But how? Blast it all. I had to keep Archie from leaving the room.
I threw on my silk robe and flew out of the closet. “Who shot Fredricks?”
“Classified.” He took a drag of his cigarette and blew out a foul-smelling cloud.
“Someone from the War Office?” I asked.
“Not the War Office.”
“Not the War Office,” I repeated. I didn’t think so. Captain Hall always said Fredricks was more use to us alive than dead. Could the classified office be MI5? Archie had been involved with MI5 in Italy. When I took up pacing, he stopped.
“I’d best get going.” His lips twitched like he wanted to say more. He grabbed his hat off the bedpost where it was hanging. “See you around.”
“You’re not still angry with me, are you?” I dashed to the door and stood in his way. No doubt Fredricks was still loitering outside. Or chatting up Lady Sybil in the foyer. Or who knew what. I had to stall Archie long enough for Fredricks to make his way to his room. At least that was what I hoped the bounder was doing.
“I could never be angry with you.” His tone softened. “Just disappointed. I don’t like waiting—”
“Alright.” I put my hands on his lapels. “Let’s not wait.”
“Really?” His face brightened. “You mean it?” He took my hands and threaded his fingers through mine.
I nodded. A pang of guilt thudded in my chest. And something else… that familiar electric current whenever I was around Archie.
“Fiona, darling.” He drew me closer and then let go of my hands and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’re my best girl.”
“Don’t you mean your only girl?” I teased.
He nuzzled my neck. “My one and only girl.” His warm breath sent shivers up my spine. He kissed my throat and I sucked in air. “I wish I could stay.” He held me out at arm’s length. “But duty calls.” Archie was a stickler for duty.
On tiptoes, I stretched up and kissed his beautiful lips. He pulled me close again and returned the kiss with such passion I thought I might collapse from the weight of it. The desperation in his kisses was contagious. Breathless, I tore myself away.
How far was I willing to go to protect my enemy? To protect my virtue. To protect my heart.
The room was spinning. The moment of truth was upon me. Exactly what—or who—was I trying to protect? My body had set in motion something my mind couldn’t stop. I reached up and touched his cheek. His gaze was soft and magnetic.
We loved each other. Right? No one need know. Right? So, what did I fear?
“I’m sorry, dearest.” Archie tapped on his hat. “I have to go before I can’t.” His smile was resigned. “We’ll talk about this, about us, soon.” He gave me a quick kiss.
“But Archie, how will I contact you—”
“Give me that notebook you’re always packing around.” He wiggled his fingers at me.
I pulled my notebook from my skirt pocket and handed it to him, along with a pencil.
“My phone number.” He jotted down his number. “Call me when you get back to town.” He kissed me again and then was off.
I dropped my notebook back into my pocket and ran to the window. Curses. Where is Fredricks? Archie could meet him on the stairs and dispose of him then and there. Or he could meet him in the grounds and shoot him in cold blood. Dawn was breaking and the horizon glowed orange. The full moon was a mere outline in a blue-gray sky. I surveyed what I could see of the lawn. Oh, no! Fredricks. He was leaning against a fencepost, smoking a cigarette. I had to warn him. I opened the window and called out.
Blast. He couldn’t hear me.
As soon as Archie rounded the corner of the house on his way to the car park, he would spot Fredricks. I cinched the belt on my robe and threw my leg over the windowsill. The trellis was just over a foot away from my window. If I could get purchase, I could climb down. If the killer had done it, so could I. Gingerly, I placed one foot on the flowerbox just below my window. Sliding down from the sill, I placed the other foot on the flowerbox. My heart pounded as I twisted to face the window and grabbed onto the ledge. Holding with all my might, I swung a foot toward the trellis. The wood slat was sharp against the bottom of my slipper. I scooted my body toward the trellis and with one great heave I hoisted myself onto the bloody thing. The trellis shook with my weight, and I closed my eyes. This was it. I would fall to my death wearing nothing but a flimsy silk robe.
When the trellis stilled, I climbed down, one slow foothold at a time. What have we here? Halfway down, I spotted a tuft of green silk fabric on one of the slats. I plucked it off and slipped it into the pocket of my robe. Who had been wearing green? No doubt the killer. My trellis theory confirmed, I had only to match the torn fabric with the article of clothing from which it came.
First things first. I called out to Fredricks again. He sprang off the fencepost and dropped his cigarette. “Fiona? What in heaven’s name.” He ran over and held up his arms. When I was within reach, he took me round the waist and lifted me down. “Don’t tell me.” He held a finger to his lips. “You’re undercover as a cat burglar.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked me up and down, a sly smile playing on his lips.
“If Archie sees you, he’ll kill you.” I tugged at his sleeve. “You’ve got to hide.”
“You want me to climb up the side of the building?” He chuckled. “Your concern is appreciated, ma chérie. Let him try.” He waved his arm. “Lieutenant Somersby has not succeeded yet.”
“I’d prefer not to take another bullet for you.” I tugged again. “Let’s not tempt fate.” Oh, dear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Archie round the corner. I pulled Fredricks into the bushes and flattened myself against the stone. Chuckling, Fredricks did the same. Holding my breath, I put my hand over his mouth and watched as Archie sauntered to his motorcar. He whistled as he went, focused on the path ahead, he never gave a sideways glance. Once his car was out of sight, I pulled Fredricks out of the bushes. He brushed at his jacket and then his jodhpurs. “I could do with a sherry.”
“It will be time for breakfast soon.” The sun on the horizon reminded me that soon the household would be up. I didn’t want to be caught with my trousers down, so to speak. I had to get back inside before the household awoke. But what to do with Fredricks?
“Come on.” I took him by the hand and led him into the house and up the stairs to my room. “Get inside.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Fredricks grinned.
As I turned the doorknob, a maid scurried past. My cheeks hot, I glanced at her, my eyes saying silently, “This is not what it seems.”
“Day, miss.” She gave a knowing smile. “Day, sir.” She bobbed a quick curtsey and continued down the hall.
What must she think? A married lady wearing nothing but a robe leading a man who was not her husband into her bedroom at dawn. I consoled myself that she’d probably seen worse.
18
SHERLOCK AND WATSON
A hot bath went some distance to reviving me after another late night. I lingered in the clawfoot bathtub, admiring the floral wallpaper and crystal sconces on either side of the framed mirror. No doubt Fredricks was in my room snooping through my things while I bathed. Of course, I no longer needed to worry about sharing the loo with the doctor. And his wife hadn’t been back since their argument. But I’d locked the door anyway. As I dressed, I tried to remember if I had anything confidential or top secret in my room. Nothing. Unless you count my assortment of wigs. After I finished my toilette, I returned to my room and found Fredricks lounging on my bed reading one of my Sherlock Holmes stories.
“Fascinating fellow, this Holmes.” He laid the magazine on the bed. “His powers of deduction border on sorcery.” He patted the bed.
I’d learned my lesson about getting too close to the rogue. He was becoming harder to resist by the minute. I shook my head. “I’m late for breakfast.”
He bounded off the bed. “I’ll accompany you.”
My eyes went wide. “You?”
“Why not?” He tugged at the hem of his jacket.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I ticked off the reasons on my fingers, then added, “Not at the house party. Not in my room. Not with me.”
“I’m not.” He went to the dressing table and admired himself in the looking glass. “I’m with Scotland Yard.” He removed a small tin from his pocket and twisted it open. Rubbing a finger on its contents, he proceeded to wax his mustaches into perfect curls.
“You’re what?”
“Detective Inspector Baker Evans.” He bowed. “At your service.”
“No.” What was he playing at?
“I know your penchant for solving murders.” He straightened his tie. “Think of it as something we can do together, ma chérie, like your Mr. Holmes and his servant Watson.”
“Dr. Watson is not his servant.” I glared at him. “And I am not your servant either.”
“Of course not.” His eyes danced. “But I am yours.” He bowed. “You have more experience at this sort of thing.” He twisted his pinky ring around his little finger. “You should take the lead, of course.”
“Why would an inspector from Scotland Yard be coming out of my bedroom?” I stood with my hands on my hips, waiting for some clever response.
“How about I go out the window, down the trellis, and come back in through the front door?” He tilted his head and grinned.
“Are you having me on?”
“Yes, actually, I am.” He laughed. “And it’s such fun too.”
Tempted to whack him with my handbag, I tightened my lips and restrained myself.
“Don’t worry about me.” He continued his preening in front of the mirror. “Discretion is my middle name.”
“Deception, more like.” I considered his scheme. Lady Tabitha Kentworthy could not investigate a murder. But if an inspector from Scotland Yard showed up, he could. And Lady Tabitha could tag along. As much as I hated to admit it, Fredricks’s plan might work. “Just don’t blow my cover.” No doubt Captain Hall would chastise me for “playing detective” again… unless I could prove that the doctor’s death was related to whatever funny business was going on at Porton Down. Our mole-saboteur and the doctor’s killer could be one and the same. Perhaps I was wrong about Private Birdwhistle being the mole. He wasn’t at the house party. So, he couldn’t be our killer. Could he? I made a mental note to question Private Birdwhistle as soon as possible.
Fredricks came to my side. “Fiona, ma chérie.”
“I’m Lady Tabitha Kentworthy, remember.” I regretted gazing up into his soft eyes.
His gaze fixed on mine, he took my hand and kissed it. “Yes, your ladyship.”
I pulled my hand away and then rubbed the residual mustache wax into my skin. “Whatever you do, don’t let anyone see you leave this room.” I hoped that maid’s name was also discretion.
“Yes, your ladyship.” He bowed and doffed his slouch hat.
“You really need to rethink your costume.” I looked him up and down. “I doubt an inspector from Scotland Yard would wear hunting kit.”
“You worry about Lady Tabitha, and I’ll take care of DI Baker Evans.” He winked at me.
Shaking my head and cursing under my breath, I left and headed downstairs to the morning room.
Breakfast was laid out along the sideboard. Lady Sybil sat at the head of one table. Seated on either side of her were Lizzy Lind and Nina, Duchess of Hamilton. I joined them and asked a footman for a cup of strong tea. “Where is everyone?” I wasn’t that late.
“Mrs. Vorknoy will be back sometime this morning to claim her husband’s things.” Lady Sybil tutted her tongue. “Such a shame. We’ve never had anyone die at a house party.”
“Does rather put a damper on the weekend,” I agreed. “She’ll be back? When did she leave?” I had, of course, noticed she wasn’t in the doctor’s room when we found him dead.
“She left yesterday afternoon and went back into town.” Lizzy munched on a piece of toast.
Ah, yes. After the argument. She’d stormed out and went back home. In which case, she couldn’t have killed her husband, unless she sneaked back and climbed the trellis. She did have a pretty good motive. Nothing like a faithless husband to inspire homicide.
“Captain Douglas and my father are out shooting birds.” Lady Sybil shrugged. “Even a dead body won’t keep them from the hunt. And Peggy is out riding again.” The way she said it, she obviously didn’t approve of her sister riding. Why ever not?
“Really.” The duchess waved a spoon in the air. “A diversion is one thing but it’s hardly appropriate to hunt the day after a man dies in your house.”
I wasn’t up on the etiquette on how to behave at a posh house party after murder. But I agreed it was a bit callous. I’d have to have a word with Clifford. Then again, maybe he was pumping his lordship for information about the killing. Could Lord Rosebrooke have a motive to murder the doctor? I was eager to find out from Clifford what he learned.
“What of the doctor’s assistant and his nurse?” I asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Apparently, the nurse had a fit this morning when she learned the news.” Lady Sybil raised a brow. “Perhaps they were more than work associates?”
“Friends, perhaps?” I ventured, suspecting they were lovers.
“Perhaps,” Lady Sybil said with a wry smile. “Or riding partners.”
Golly. What did she mean by that?
“Speaking of.” Lady Sybil winked. “Where is Lord Kentworthy this morning? Sleeping in?”
My cheeks warmed. “He was called back to London, I’m afraid.”
I was about to ask after Mr. Hobbs when the butler interrupted our breakfast. “Mr. Hobbs has returned.” No sooner had he made the announcement than Mr. Hobbs burst into the room.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“I came as soon as I heard the news.” He removed his hat and fiddled with its band. “Poor chap had Bright’s disease. Finally got the best of him.”
I held my tongue. Disease or not, Dr. Vorknoy had been the victim of foul play.
Lady Sybil paled and looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She gave her head a quick shake and regained her composure. “Sit down, Mr. Hobbs.” She gestured to a chair. “Hastings, fetch Mr. Hobbs a cup of coffee, if you please.”
Hastings nodded and then disappeared.
“Bright’s disease.” Lizzy dropped a piece of half-eaten toast back onto her plate. “Your dear mama.” She turned to Lady Sybil. “That’s what took her, too, is it not?”
“Took my mama when I was only eleven.” Lady Sybil nodded. “Papa hasn’t been the same since.”
I’d noticed he still wore mourning clothes. “If I may ask, what is Bright’s disease?”
“Kidney necrosis.” Henry Hobbs put his hands on his back as if to demonstrate.
“What are the symptoms of Bright’s disease?” I glanced at Lady Sybil, and she averted my gaze. Lizzy Lind gave me the evil eye and the duchess stopped midbite.
“Apoplexy, convulsions, coma.” Mr. Hobbs’s voice was animated. “Eventually death.”
“Please could we—” Lady Sybil stared down at her plate.
“My apologies.” I didn’t tell her that I was trying to confirm whether the symptoms matched the death scene. It was possible that Dr. Vorknoy succumbed to his illness, went into a fit of convulsions, and knocked over the lamp. But my gut told me otherwise. “So, you weren’t here last night when… it happened?”
“Oh, no.” Mr. Hobbs waved his hands as if conducting a symphony. “I went back to town after dinner last night. You can ask my wife.” The man was so eager to share his alibi, I half expected him to produce his wife on the spot. I made a mental note to have Clifford check out his alibi as soon as possible and corroborate with someone besides Mrs. Hobbs.
I tried to get a look at the lining of his jacket to see if it was torn. I would have to come up with a clever way to get the man to take it off. “Do you know anyone who might wish the doctor harm?” There was no gentle way to ask that question.
“Harm?” Henry Hobbs gave a start. “You don’t believe… He died of natural causes. Surely you can’t—”
“Murder!” The duchess coughed, choking on a bit of toast. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can—”
“With all due respect, your ladyship.” Mr. Hobbs’s face went red. “What do you know of murder?”
“Quite a lot, actually.” My brain was racing to come up with a story about Lady Tabitha’s experience with murder investigations.
Hastings reappeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, your ladyship.” His tone was solemn. “Scotland Yard is waiting in the library.”
