An Old Money Murder in Mayfair Read online

  “He won’t be down for tea?”

  “I doubt it. He’ll sit there all afternoon, staring out the window.” Gigi shook her head. “I don’t understand it. How can he be still that long?” Gigi, who had walked to the window to tweak the drape and then crossed to the door again, paused with her hand on the knob. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. Would you like to come down for tea and meet Granny, or would you rather wait and meet her before dinner?”

  “I’ll come down for tea. That’s why I’m here, after all.” Gigi had only told me that her grandmother thought someone was trying to harm her. Initially, I’d had the impression that her grandmother was a bit on the dotty side, but that didn’t match up with Gigi’s description of her as a dragon.

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”

  “Wait. Aren’t you going to tell me what’s worrying your grandmother?”

  “I think I should let her explain it.”

  I frowned at the door after Gigi closed it, wishing she’d at least given me some details. It wasn’t like her to be coy—not with me. She excelled in coy flirting, but she’d always been forthcoming when it was just “us girls.”

  I turned back to the cage and opened the door. I’d learned in the last few weeks that Mr. Quigley liked to walk around my dressing table as I freshened up. He stalked across it, twisting his head at his reflection as I removed my hat and combed my bobbed hair. I dusted powder lightly over my face, then applied a thin layer of lipstick. I suspected Gigi’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Alton, was the sort to frown on cosmetics.

  I held out my arm. Mr. Quigley nudged my powder puff, then returned to studying his reflection as I tried to coax him to come to me. After nosing around my jewelry box, he finally hopped on my wrist. He cocked his head so I could stroke the feathers along his neck as I took him back to the cage. “I’m off to see the Victorian dragon.”

  He flitted inside and landed on the perch, squawked, then announced, “Redeem the time.”

  I recognized the verse—I was the daughter of a retired clergyman, after all—which concluded, “For the days are evil.”

  I closed the door on the cage. “Well, that’s not auspicious. Couldn’t you come up with something more cheerful?”

  Mr. Quigley hopped over to his water bowl, and I made a mental note to teach him a few less ominous phrases.

  Chapter Two

  The Dowager Duchess of Alton didn’t look like a dragon. The vast baroque-style drawing room dwarfed her. Everything from the furniture to the paintings had an ornately carved gilt edge and was either white, gold, or crystal. The dowager, her black gown contrasting with the alabaster tones of the decor, perched on a scroll-arm settee on the far side of the room. She had the same petite frame as Gigi, and at first glance, she reminded me more of a starling than a fantastic creature. But as I followed Gigi across the spacious room, I revised my assessment.

  The dowager was speaking to a slender younger woman with sloping shoulders who had her back to us. The young woman’s hair was the color of weak tea and was pulled back into a saggy bun at the nape of her neck. The unimaginative hairstyle was at odds with the elegant cut and material of the young woman’s dress. After a moment I realized it was a dress I’d seen Gigi wear a few times. The young woman murmured something, then the dowager’s words carried across the room. “Yes, and tell Lady Alice that I absolutely disagree. It is imperative we have only three on the committee. That is all, Clara.”

  The young woman headed for the door. I think she would have passed us with only a nod, but Gigi stopped her. “Olive, may I present my cousin and Granny’s companion, Clara Clack.” I smiled at the woman as Gigi continued, “Clara, this is an old school chum of mine, Olive Belgrave.”

  Clara wore no powder or lipstick, and freckles stood out on her fair skin, dotting thickly across her nose and upper cheeks. Her stubby fair lashes were bare of mascara. She looked to be older than Gigi, but I wasn’t sure by how much. Her pale skin was unlined except for a few wrinkles around her eyes, but now that I was close to her, I could see a few silver hairs threaded through her pale brown hair.

  She mumbled a greeting, and I had to strain to hear her.

  “How do you do, Miss Clack?” I widened my smile, feeling sorry for the woman. The life of a companion was a difficult one. She straddled two worlds, not completely fitting in either one. While she wasn’t a servant, she was clearly at the dowager’s beck and call, and I was sure her outmoded hairstyle and lack of cosmetics were either to please the dowager or at the dowager’s command. She wouldn’t be completely accepted in the servants’ hall either, especially since she wore Gigi’s cast-off gowns.

  The dowager’s imperious voice rang out, carrying clearly across the immense room. “And bring my shawl when you return, Clara.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Clara scuttled away, her head bent and her gaze focused on the ornate pattern in the carpet as Gigi and I joined the dowager.

  While the dowager’s black silk dress was styled in the latest fashion, she radiated a Victorian sensibility from her thick upswept hair to her impeccable posture and the cameo at her throat. As Gigi presented me, the dowager surveyed me, and I could understand why Gigi called her a dragon. The dowager’s gaze, cold and critical, skimmed over me, lingering on the trace of red lipstick and my calf-length skirt. She sniffed and turned her attention to the tea tray. “Another modern miss, I see.”

  “Granny, you mustn’t be so stuffy. Olive is staying with us a few days. She’s here to help you.” Gigi favored her grandmother in looks as well as stature. It was a bit uncanny looking at Gigi and her grandmother side by side on the settee. They created a strange sort of mirror image across the decades. If I had any question about what Gigi would look like in fifty years, I only needed to look to her grandmother. I would bet that in her youth the dowager duchess looked remarkably like Gigi did now.

  The dowager concentrated on selecting a sponge finger from the tea tray. “Whatever can you mean, Gina?”

  “Olive will help you with the fact that you think someone is trying to harm you.”

  The dowager’s only reaction was that her nostrils flared slightly. Her tone, which had been dismissive when Gigi presented me, now held a note of coldness. “That is not something to be discussed.” She turned toward me. “I hope you have a delightful stay here at Alton House, but I assure you, I do not need any assistance.”

  The words especially from the likes of you hung unspoken in the air. I’d been put in my place.

  “Granny! Really! Even though you act like that, it’s not true. I know it isn’t.” Gigi passed a teacup to me as she said to her grandmother, “You’re worried. I can tell you are, and I asked Olive here especially for you. You can trust her. She’s very discreet.”

  I sipped my tea and kept my expression neutral, ignoring the sting of the dowager’s attitude. I was too much of a lady to retaliate. It would be bad form to respond in kind. Gigi had asked me here to help, and I’d try to do so for her sake. “I’m sure you can dispatch any problem that arises, Your Grace,” I said. “But if you’d like to discuss . . . any worries or concerns, I’m happy to listen.”

  Gigi handed me a plate with a slice of seed cake. “Olive helped Lady Agnes with that ghastly rumor about the mummy curse.”

  I could tell that the name of the aristocratic lady carried weight with the dowager because she eyed me again, but she only said, “How kind of you to help her. However, there is nothing amiss at Alton House.” She sent a severe look at Gigi, but it didn’t seem to bother Gigi at all. She transferred a slice of seed cake to her plate.

  With an inflection that indicated the discussion was closed and we were moving to a new topic, the dowager said, “Now, Gina, I expect you to be in the drawing room before the gong sounds tonight. You’re invited as well, Miss Belgrave,” she added in an off-handed manner.

  “Thank you. Of course, I’d be delighted—”

  The door burst open, and Felix strode across the room.
The cape flared out as he moved, making his weedy figure appear more substantial. His dark hair was parted in the middle of his head and wasn’t slicked back with hair cream. It fell on each side of his brow, bobbing and bouncing against his temples. He had a pale complexion, except for two bright red spots that stood out on his cheeks. He surged up to our grouping, and I thought his knobby leg would bump into the tea tray and knock it over, but he stopped just short of it. He shook a piece of paper at the dowager. “Is it true? Did you pay off Randolph to write that horrible review of my last play?”

  “Felix, we have a guest,” the dowager said mildly.

  Gigi put down her plate and performed the introduction. Felix and I said, “How do you do,” then he immediately turned back to the dowager. “Is it true?”

  She let out a tiny sigh that indicated she found the topic tedious. “Since you insist on pressing the matter, yes. I dropped a line to Mr. Randolph and told him you have more important activities to pursue. I let him know it would be to everyone’s benefit if you let go of this frivolous pursuit.”

  The brightness had faded out of Felix’s complexion when Gigi presented me, but now the color rushed back. “You did! You paid him off. That horrible review was your doing.”

  The dowager’s already cool gaze turned positively arctic. “I would never do such a thing. I simply let Mr. Randolph know where your best interests lie.” She waved a hand, indicating the drawing room. “Which is here at Alton House. You don’t seem to understand that you will be the duke in the future. You must spend your time learning how to run everything instead of concentrating on a useless hobby.”

  “Granny, you didn’t!”

  The dowager didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Gigi’s outraged tone, or the fact that Felix was breathing so hard that the edges of the cape rippled with the movement of his chest. The paper he clutched had completely disappeared into his clenched fist.

  All the dowager’s attention was focused on pouring a cup of tea, her face completely relaxed. “I most certainly did.” She put down the teapot. “As I’ve said many times, Felix, you must accept your true and appropriate role—and that is not as a playwright.” She infused the last word with disdain.

  The door opened, and Elrick announced, “Captain Inglebrook.”

  Tall and broad-shouldered, Inglebrook looked as dashing as ever. I’d last seen him a few weeks ago at Parkview Hall, where he’d been a guest for a dinner party. With his slicked-back midnight-black hair, thin mustache, and charming manner, he had the aura of a cinema star about him.

  If he picked up on the tension in the drawing room, he ignored it—as one does. He came across the thick carpet to our group, his smile wide. He greeted the dowager first, then she poured a cup of tea and held it out to Felix. “Do have a seat, Felix.” A hint of reprimand flowed through her words, which also carried the unspoken command of and don’t make a scene.

  The color had receded again from Felix’s face, but he still held himself with a tense, angry stance. He stared at the cup of tea for a moment, then seemed to deflate as his gaze swept around the grouping.

  Inglebrook took a seat. Felix accepted the cup the dowager held out, then dropped into a chair a little distance from the rest of the group. He looked exhausted. Gigi gave Inglebrook a flirtatious look from her lashes as she handed him his tea.

  I’d known Gigi long enough to know her saucy manner was second nature to her when someone as attractive as Inglebrook was nearby. Another man might have been bowled over by Gigi’s attention, but it seemed Inglebrook recognized there was nothing beyond Gigi’s coquettishness than the desire for a bit of fun. I suspected he and Gigi enjoyed their banter. It was almost as if their exchanges were an exercise in sharpening their flirting skills.

  After chatting with the dowager and Gigi for a moment, Inglebrook turned to me. “Miss Belgrave, we meet again. What nefarious going-on brings you to Alton House?”

  I didn’t think it was possible for the dowager to straighten her posture any further, but she managed to do it. It was rather like a cat puffing up its fur in the face of a threat. I kept my attention on Inglebrook, but I could feel the weight of her gaze on me. “I’m here to visit Gigi.”

  The dowager cut in. “Yes, for the dinner party tonight. You’re coming, aren’t you, Captain Inglebrook?”

  “Of course.”

  Inglebrook caught sight of someone over my shoulder and stood. “Good afternoon, Miss Clack. Please have my seat.”

  “Oh, no—I mean, thank you, but I’m only here to bring this shawl to Her Grace . . .” Her soft-spoken words trailed off as she went to the dowager and arranged the fringed wrap around the dowager’s shoulders.

  Clara moved away, but Inglebrook had remained standing and stepped into her path. “Please, I insist.” He gestured to his vacated seat. “How are you today, Miss Clack?”

  Clara sat down, and a pretty pink color filled her cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier. “Very well, Captain.” She reached for a workbasket. Inglebrook smiled at her, the skin crinkling around what another woman had described to me as his “smoldering” dark eyes. He complimented Clara on the needlework she’d taken out, and she mumbled a reply.

  I hoped Inglebrook would tone down his charm. Clara was an altogether different category from Gigi. She didn’t flirt with abandon like Gigi did. If he continued smiling at Clara that way, it wouldn’t only be Addie who was head over heels in love.

  Gigi asked Clara if she’d like a cup of tea, and the dowager took charge of the conversation. We discussed the recent clear weather and the upcoming dinner party. Then Gigi described a treasure hunt a friend was planning for the following evening. “I’m sure it will be as entertaining as last night’s fancy dress party. Everyone came in Victorian clothing. Fortunately, I found a suitable dress in the attic. I’m quite glad those horrible corsets have gone out of style.”

  The dowager cleared her throat, and Gigi moved off the topic of undergarments. “Edith’s planning a party for next week with a Greek theme. Everyone will receive a laurel wreath when they arrive. The ballroom will be draped in white silk swags, and she’s commissioned an artist to paint an enormous backdrop of the Parthenon that will cover one wall of the ballroom. I do hope I can find something fitting to wear. Perhaps I’ll dress up as Athena.”

  “You most certainly will not.” The dowager set her cup down with a snap.

  Felix, who had been gulping down his tea, placed the cup and saucer on a side table and stood. “I’m sorry, but I have important matters to attend to. Please excuse me.”

  Gigi’s gaze followed him as he left the room, a wrinkle appearing between her brows.

  “What a neat stitch you have there, Miss Clack,” Inglebrook said. Clara had shifted her chair so that it was a bit outside our circle, and she’d been so quiet that I’d almost forgotten she was there.

  She lifted her head from her needlework. “Thank you, Captain.” Her quiet words were breathy.

  “All that concentration on such tiny details,” Inglebrook continued. “A chap wouldn’t have the patience for it. I don’t see how you ladies do it.”

  “Some of us don’t,” Gigi said.

  Inglebrook swiveled to face her. “You don’t sew?”

  “I’m a dreadful example of what not to do, Captain Inglebrook.” Gigi gave him a look that added a provocative hint to her words.

  The dowager frowned. “Despite what my granddaughter says, Captain Inglebrook, Lady Gina has been trained in all the ladylike arts.”

  “I just find them boring.”

  The dowager’s frown deepened. With Gigi around, I imagined the dowager frowned quite a bit.

  Captain Inglebrook took his leave, and shortly afterward, the dowager stood. “Come, Clara. I need you to make notes.” The dowager sailed away across the drawing room. Clara shoved her needle into the fabric, then tucked it into her workbasket. She took a few steps, then hesitated a moment beside Gigi. She seemed to be about to say something, but the dowager looked back f
rom the doorway. “Clara, don’t dawdle.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Clara hurried after the stately figure of the dowager.

  Gigi reached for another slice of seed cake. “Poor Felix. I’ll have to look in on him. He’s such a sensitive soul. If only Granny would stop being so managing. The more she pushes him to give up his writing, the more stubborn he becomes.” She paused, her fork poised in the air. “Stubbornness runs in the family. Granny has it in spades. I’d hoped she’d talk to you today, but I should have realized it would take her a few days to come around. This is one of those things that takes time.”

  “Gigi, that’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.”

  “I’ll admit I am a most impatient creature, but I do know my grandmother. If you stay a few days and she sees that you’re discreet, she will speak to you.”

  “It doesn’t appear that your grandmother is worried about a thing.”

  “Oh, but she is. She senses something ‘ominous’ directed at her.”

  “What exactly has happened to cause her to worry?”

  Gigi put her fork on the plate. “There have been a few incidents. It would be better if she told you about them. I’m sure they’re nothing, but clearly they’re worrying her.”

  “Gigi, just tell me.”

  “All right. There was a narrow miss with a motor.”

  Chapter Three

  “A narrow miss with a motor?” I said, my voice rising. That wasn’t at all what I’d expected. “That sounds serious, Gigi.”

  “It’s not as worrisome as it seems, I assure you. I was with her at the time, and I’m sure it was just an incompetent driver. He swerved, realized he was dangerously close to the pavement, and corrected his direction.”