An Old Money Murder in Mayfair Read online

“So you saw the driver?”

  “No, it was all a blur.”

  “But you said he swerved.”

  “Well, yes, but I couldn’t really make out anything. It all happened so fast. And shortly after that, Granny was taken ill after dinner. She’d said her food tasted odd. She was quite sick during the night, but Dr. Benhurst said it was nothing more than a bad bout with the flu. It was going around.”

  “Did anyone else in the house become sick?”

  “I felt a bit queasy, but nothing like Granny. Dr. Benhurst told me that wasn’t unusual. It was much harder on Granny—because of her age, you know.”

  “How long ago did these things happen?”

  Gigi took a narrow black tube from her pocket. She tugged on it, expanding the telescopic cigarette holder. “A few weeks ago.” She flipped open the cigarette box on the table beside her. She inserted a cigarette into the holder, which was ringed with tiny diamond baguettes. “Granny’s so stuffy. She abhors it when I smoke in company.”

  “How far apart?” I asked, referring to the incidents that troubled the dowager.

  Gigi stared at one of the room’s chandeliers for a moment. “A few days. Within the same week, I believe.”

  “Gigi, even if both things were a coincidence, they should be looked into.”

  Gigi lit the cigarette and sat back, a smile on her face as she slipped her lighter into her pocket. “That’s why I’ve asked you here, Olive.”

  “But I’m not qualified to handle something like this.”

  Gigi raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?” She twisted her head and blew cigarette smoke away from me. It drifted up toward the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling.

  I shifted in my chair, inching back even though I was sitting several feet away from her on the other side of the furniture grouping. Intellectually, I knew the smoke would disperse long before it reached me, but cigarette smoke tended to set off my asthma, so I instinctively avoided it. “I may have helped sort things out in some rather unpleasant situations, but those were after someone had died. Not before. If someone intends to harm the dowager, you must contact the police.”

  “Oh, pish. She’s just nervy. Even with that now, she won’t have the police involved. No, you’re just the person to help her see it’s all in her head and that she has nothing to worry about. Please, Olive, you will do it, won’t you?”

  “But what if she’s right? What if someone does want to hurt her? Does she have any enemies?”

  “Too many to count, darling.”

  “Gigi. Be serious.”

  “I am.” She leaned forward. The smile was gone. “She’s a managing sort of woman and thinks her ideas are best. She’s in a position to force her will onto whomever she pleases. Of course people become upset when she interferes with their plans.”

  “And who has she done this to?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s Granny’s way. She thinks she knows what’s best, and she arranges our lives for us. Why do you think I spend so many holidays in other people’s homes? I’m so looking forward to when Mummy and Daddy return. Granny will go back to the country, where she can manage the affairs of the village instead of this house and my life.”

  A footman entered with a large box. “For you, Miss Belgrave.” He deposited the oblong package on the settee beside me.

  “For me? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, miss. It was sent over just now, redirected from an address in South Kensington.”

  “Perhaps it is mine, then.” The flat I’d intended to lease had been in South Kensington. I checked the label. “It’s from Gwen. She must have sent it to what I thought would be my new address.”

  Gigi dismissed the footman as I began untying the thick string that encircled the box. “How is Gwen?” Gigi asked. We’d all been school chums together.

  “She’s so in love that she’s practically glowing.”

  “Then you approve of the match between her and the policeman?”

  “Detective Inspector, as Gwen would point out. Yes, I do. He’s madly in love with her and thinks Gwen is marvelous.”

  “And her parents? Are they opposed?”

  I hesitated, choosing my words. Gigi wasn’t a gossip, and I knew she was interested in Gwen’s happiness, so I didn’t give her a pat answer. “On the whole, no. Overall, they want Gwen to be happy. There’s a bit of . . . how shall I phrase it? An adjustment of their expectations, but I think it will all work out well. Inspector Longly does truly care for her, and she for him.”

  Gigi sighed. “It must be nice to marry as one pleases. I am a bit worried for Addie and Rollo.”

  “Why?”

  “Essie told me Rollo must marry money.”

  “Essie is usually right about these things.” Essie Matthews, another finishing-school chum, adored outlandish hats and wrote a society column for The Hullabaloo. Essie often put hints of society’s scandals into her stories, but her information was usually spot-on. “That’s the advantage of marrying a man who has a steady income.”

  “And no draughty country pile to maintain either. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Gwen and her inspector will have a comfy service flat in London and be blissfully happy.”

  “What are the dowager’s plans for you? Do you know?” I was curious. Gigi had always seemed to live with only her own interests guiding her actions. The thought that her family’s expectations weighed on her was something I’d never seen evidence of before.

  “Oh, I know what Granny would like, but nothing in the world will induce me to walk down the aisle with her favorite, Earl Mudmere.”

  “Earl Mudmere?” He’d visited Parkview Hall a few times, and I’d never met anyone less interested in their outward appearance. He was the sort of person who genuinely didn’t care about looking well turned-out. I couldn’t imagine what he’d have in common with Gigi, who was interested in fashion and enjoyed looking smart. There was also an age gap of at least a quarter of a century between Gigi and the earl. Perhaps I hadn’t heard correctly. “Earl Mudmere, who looks like a balding scarecrow and constantly has a monocle screwed into an eye socket?”

  “Yes. He’s quite well off, despite his scattershot approach to personal attire.”

  “Well, you’re quite good at holding to your own course.”

  “That I am. And I do have the prospect of a comfortable income of my own, so I don’t have to marry money.” She put down her cigarette and picked up a bit of discarded string from the box’s wrapping that I’d placed on the table. She wound it around her finger.

  Gigi had received a small inheritance from a distant cousin while we were in finishing school, and that gave her a measure of independence, but it was well known that the dowager intended to settle a large portion of her considerable estate on Gigi.

  I nodded and focused on loosening the last knot. For a moment, I felt a tiny sting of envy. I’d once thought my future as secure as Gigi’s, but bad investment advice had wiped out my prospects.

  “Or that’s what everyone tells me—and I tell myself.” The tip of her finger turned pink as she held the string in place. “Sometimes I think having only a little money would be better than having ‘prospects.’ Granny has a hold on the whole family—all of us—because of her money. Of course Daddy has the title, but the estates don’t bring in enough to finance everything, not like they once did. He’s growing more dependent on Granny every year. He has to have outside money to keep everything going. We’re all like marionettes, and she enjoys tightening the strings and making us dance.”

  I firmly stomped on that ember of envy. Gigi was right. The inheritance from the dowager would eventually give her financial stability, but for now, it meant the dowager exerted a degree of regulation over her life. I wasn’t good at taking direction or following a well-marked path. I was better off making my own way, even if my path was less opulent than Gigi’s.

  “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to cut the strings and be fre
e—like you.”

  “It is quite nice to make one’s own decisions. Of course, I don’t have a place to call home at the moment, which is a bit of a drawback.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have that sorted soon. You always manage to figure out something. And if not, you can stay here with me.” Gigi unwound the string and tossed it on the tea tray. “Mummy and Daddy won’t mind. They barely know I’m here, so one more person in the house won’t trouble them at all.”

  I unpicked the last knot. The top of the box fit snugly. Gigi ground out her cigarette, collapsed her cigarette holder, and came over to help me. It took both of us to wiggle off the box lid. It came away suddenly, and the updraft it released caused the tissue paper inside to pulse up, giving a tantalizing glimpse of gold fabric and sequins before it fell back into place.

  I pushed the paper away and froze. The most beautiful evening gown I’d ever seen was nestled inside the tissue. It was the color of champagne. Intricate swirling patterns of seed pearls and sequins covered the bodice and full-length skirt.

  “How utterly gorgeous,” Gigi said in a tone usually reserved for overwhelming architecture or majestic views of nature.

  “This must be a mistake.”

  “Never say you’re going to send it back! It’s so beautiful.” Gigi stroked one of the shoulder seams like she was caressing a pet. “Look, there’s a card tucked into the edge.”

  “It’s Gwen’s handwriting.” I opened it and skimmed the short note.

  * * *

  Dear Olive,

  * * *

  Mother and I had this gown made for you when we stopped over in Paris. We were saving it to give to you as your Christmas present, but when I heard you were to visit Alton House, I convinced Mother we had to send it now. I hope you wear it to the swankiest of gatherings!

  I’m off to meet Lucas’s parents. I’m alternately euphorically happy (to be engaged to Lucas) and completely terrified (about making a good impression on his parents).

  Write me with all the news from London.

  * * *

  Gwen

  * * *

  I tucked the note back into the envelope. “It’s an early Christmas gift from Gwen and my aunt. I must write and thank her.” And tell her she’s a silly goose. I was sure Inspector Longly’s parents would adore her and she was worrying for nothing.

  “That dress is far too marvelous to wear to the family dinner party tonight. Save it for tomorrow. We’ll go to Grafton Galleries and then somewhere else like the Blue Moon or the Embassy Club, and Lisbet is planning a scavenger hunt for later in the evening. It will be marvelously splendid. Let me ring for Stella to put the dress away for you.”

  A maid with flyaway brown hair and a sallow complexion entered the drawing room at a leisurely pace, but when Gigi tasked her with putting the dress away in my room, she looked delighted and hurried over to the box. She carried it to my room as if it contained a royal diadem and she was bringing it to Court to crown royalty.

  After Stella arranged it on a hanger and placed it in the wardrobe in my room, Gigi asked if I’d brought a maid. When I said I hadn’t, Gigi said, “Then Stella will do for you.”

  Stella, still fingering the beadwork on the bodice of the dress, turned to Gigi. “Yes, my lady.” Her curtsy was the shallowest I’d seen. Aunt Caroline would have been displeased, but Gigi must have decided to overlook the lax manners because all she said was, “That will be all, Stella.”

  Mr. Quigley, who’d watched the maid’s progress back and forth across the room with his head cocked to the side, let out a squawk. Stella jumped, then giggled. “Lawd, he frightened me.”

  “This is Mr. Quigley,” I said. “He’s rather noisy at times, but friendly.”

  “You don’t expect me to take care of that—thing, do you?” Stella asked Gigi.

  “No, Stella. I’ll have Harry do that.”

  “Good.” Stella left, giving the birdcage a wide berth.

  Gigi had no fear of the parrot. She crossed to the cage and put her face on eye level with it. “Harry is a lad up from the country who has a way with animals.”

  “I can take care of Mr. Quigley. I don’t want to make more work for the servants.”

  “It’ll be no trouble at all. Harry would rather take care of a parrot than polish silver. Can I let him out? Mr. Quigley, I mean.”

  “Yes. Here, I’ll show—” I pushed back my chair. I’d sat down at the writing desk to pen a thank you note to Gwen, but Gigi, never one to go about anything slowly, already had the cage door opened. She extended her arm. Mr. Quigley immediately hopped onto her extended wrist.

  “I do believe he likes you,” I said. “If you rub his neck, he’ll be devoted to you.”

  Gigi stroked the back of the parrot’s head, and Mr. Quigley leaned into her hand. “And do ring for Stella tonight when it’s time to dress. Stella is . . . difficult. She feels she’s been slighted, and I don’t completely blame her for her attitude. She’s another person who has had her plans derailed by Granny.”

  I looked up from the desk, which was supplied with writing paper, pens, and stamps. “How so?”

  “Stella would like to become a lady’s maid.” Gigi lowered her voice. “Daddy’s resources are a bit—um—strained. Finances don’t run to a full-time lady’s maid for me, so Stella does for me, but she still has her upper housemaid’s duties.” Gigi sighed. “Stella applied for a lady’s maid position with Mrs. Hampton, which I thought was an excellent idea. I’d like to see Stella better herself. But Granny put an end to that right away. She told Mrs. Hampton that she couldn’t give Stella a reference. She—Stella, that is—is a bit slack in some ways, but she does an excellent job caring for my clothes. She’d do well as a lady’s maid. Granny’s just making sure there’s no upset here. She doesn’t want to have to find more staff.”

  “But surely the housekeeper—Mrs. Monce, wasn’t it—would see to that?”

  “Oh, there’s no detail too small for Granny. She’ll interfere in even the most inconsequential matters.”

  “Perhaps your grandmother knows her own maid is about to quit and wants to keep Stella in the household because she knows there will be an opening soon.”

  “Dowd? Quit? We should be so lucky.”

  “That bad?”

  “Oh, yes. She spies on me for Granny—just as Elrick does. And Dowd is forever making little comments about ‘proper behavior.’ It’s most annoying.” Gigi waved a hand, dismissing the subject. “But enough about Dowd. I feel terribly sorry for Stella. Granny’s fixed it so the word is out among her set that Stella isn’t up to snuff, so she can’t find work anywhere else now. You’re not in the market for a maid, are you?”

  “Independence has a price, you know. In my case, it currently doesn’t run to funding a maid. I’m sorry I can’t help.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll sort out something for her.” Gigi addressed Mr. Quigley. “Perhaps I could send her to Scotland to cousin Clementine. I don’t think Granny’s poisoned her mind against Stella—yet.”

  Chapter Four

  It was a small dinner party that evening. I’d expected the attendees to be from the dowager’s set, but it was Gigi’s friends who filled the guest list—although Earl Mudmere was in attendance. He’d greeted Gigi courteously when he arrived—along with everyone else. Then he’d spent most of the time in the drawing room before dinner chatting with the dowager. During the shuffle of arranging ourselves in order of precedent before we went in to dinner, I said to Gigi, “I think you’re safe from any romantic overtures from Earl Mudmere.”

  “I do hope so. He does seem to be unmoved by my charms, thank goodness.”

  “Not the typical situation with you,” I teased.

  “Believe me, I don’t mind at all.” She caught the eye of Inglebrook and smiled at him across the room. In evening dress, he looked even more debonair than usual. Mudmere, on the other hand, was a balding man with a disheveled air. He had his ever-present monocle, which he kept screwed into his eye sock
et as we conversed in the drawing room. His bow tie was crooked, and a smudge of what looked to be jam marred his lapel. His appearance was considerably improved from the last time I’d seen him at a summer picnic held at a house that bordered the Thames. The earl’s suit had been wrinkled, his shoes scuffed, and his monocle had been attached to his pocket with a string instead of a chain.

  I met two other gentlemen of the dowager’s acquaintance, her solicitor Mr. Tower, and a scholar, Mr. York, who worked at the British Museum. Mr. York was a small neat man who smelled strongly of Brilliantine. We had a nice chat before dinner about the Egyptian antiquities, something I’d picked up a bit of knowledge about when I stayed with Lady Agnes.

  At dinner I was seated between Felix and Addie’s young man, Rollo. Conversation with him was difficult. He’d half-turned toward me, but his attention was on Addie, who was seated across the table. They spent most of the dinner gazing at each other through the candelabra in a besotted way. He’d met all the conversational gambits I’d thrown out during dinner with the same three answers: You don’t say? Really? Fascinating. I was relieved when the pudding course was removed and I could turn back and speak to Felix as the fruit and cheese were served. He wasn’t chatty, but he did answer properly.

  Felix hadn’t mingled in the drawing room. Instead, he’d stood to one side observing the gathering. I’d wondered if he’d wear his cape to dinner, but he arrived without it in the usual formal attire. A gardenia was pinned to the lapel of his tuxedo, but his hair still hung limply on either side of his face. While the rest of us chatted, I saw Felix sneak a few sips from a pocket flask while the dowager was turned away from him. Despite Gigi’s request, the dowager refused to serve cocktails before dinner.

  During the earlier courses of dinner, I’d avoided the subjects of theaters, plays, writing, and literature in general. Now I scoured my mind to come up with another innocuous topic. We’d already covered the weather and the decor of the dining room, which was every bit as gilded and formal as the drawing room. We’d discussed the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling, the massive chandeliers, which had been imported from Venice, and the tall screen in one corner that had been fitted out with the same wallpaper as the rest of the room and hid the servants as they prepped the food.