Murder at Archly Manor Read online

  Sebastian steered me around the room, introducing me to the remaining guests. The last two members of the dinner party arrived shortly before the meal was announced. Monty Park was tall and fair and had a hearty laugh. I’d danced with him at a hunt ball where he’d stepped on my toes rather heavily. I didn’t know the other young man, who was called Tug. He was short and redheaded and seemed to spend most of his time staring at Lady Pamela. He had to make a conscious effort to pull his gaze away from her when Sebastian introduced me to him.

  I didn’t have a chance to talk with either Monty or Tug because the butler, Babcock, announced dinner was served.

  Ten of us sat down to dinner in the dining room, with its mahogany wainscoting, red-papered walls, and spectacularly ornate plasterwork ceiling. Work-conscious Hugh was absent, but Sebastian’s secretary, James Henley, a serious bespectacled young man, joined us. He was seated beside me at dinner and explained in great detail the trickiness of electrifying Archly Manor while preserving parquet floors, ceiling frescoes, and priceless wood paneling.

  “It sounds challenging,” I said.

  “It was.” James looked across the table to Muriel. “You caught the end of it when you returned from Paris. Muriel can tell you what a mess everything was.”

  “Yes, it was hard to do lessons with all the knocking and banging,” she said.

  The silence stretched, and I cast around for a topic to keep the conversation rolling. “Do you travel often, Muriel? Have you been to the States?”

  “Oh, no. I only travel with Mrs. Reid. She went to Paris, and I accompanied her.”

  “I see. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Very much so.”

  I was glad Monty asked me a question and I could turn my attention to him because conversation with Muriel was hard going. Monty did remember the hunt ball. “I fear I didn’t make a good impression,” he said. “Or rather, that I made too deep of an impression—on your shoes. I have to apologize. Dancing is not my forte.”

  “What do you enjoy?”

  “I’m a bit of a sportsman. I enjoy golf and horses.”

  “Buying horses or riding them?” I asked.

  Before Monty could answer, Alfred, who was seated across the table from me, asked, “Or betting on them?”

  Monty gave him a tight smile, and I had the impression that Monty didn’t appreciate Alfred’s comment. “A bit of all three.” He stared at Alfred for a moment, then said, “There’s no law against any of those, is there?”

  “No, indeed,” Alfred said, his already large grin stretching wide.

  “Don’t let’s talk about horses,” Violet said and turned to Sebastian. “Do you have musicians coming tonight? Or will it have to be the gramophone?”

  “My dear, would I throw a party without proper music? Of course, I invited a nice little orchestra down from London. They’re setting up now.”

  “Wonderful,” Violet said.

  Alfred said, “Then perhaps Muriel will serenade us this evening?”

  Muriel flushed. “Tonight is for dancing.”

  Violet, who was seated next to Alfred, tapped his arm. “Beast. Why would you say that? You know Muriel can’t—er—I mean . . .”

  Muriel smiled at Violet. “You don’t have to be delicate about it, Violet. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. Alfred likes to tease me about it.”

  “Well, he shouldn’t,” Violet said, then turned to Alfred with a bounce. “I know! Why don’t you sing for us tonight, Alfred?”

  He shook his head. “No, Muriel is right. Tonight is for dancing.”

  Lady Pamela, who was seated beside Sebastian, put her hand on his arm. “I want to know about this music in America that’s all the rage. You were just there. Tell us about it.”

  “That was several months ago,” Sebastian said.

  Lady Pamela twitched a shoulder and adjusted her necklace. “But you heard the music, didn’t you? You went to shows?” She reached up to smooth her hair. She’d been constantly moving her hands throughout dinner—twisting the rings on her fingers or fiddling with her silverware.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then, tell us.” Lady Pamela waved off a footman offering the next course. I was seated diagonally across the table from her and could see she ate like one of Jasper’s society girls. She mostly pushed the food around her plate and ate only a few bites.

  Sebastian grinned at her. “Scandalous stuff, let me tell you. Wild and loose-limbed and sure to drive the papers to declare it will cause the downfall of society.”

  “Superb! You must demonstrate,” Lady Pamela said.

  “Oh, no. I’m not that talented. You’ll have to go to the clubs in London to see the real thing. The foxtrot is as wild as I get.”

  “Spoilsport,” Lady Pamela said with a pout.

  It was only after dinner that things began to get a little wild. Motor after motor arrived and disgorged glittering partygoers who fell on the buffet tables in the reception hall like swarms of locusts. They danced in the ballroom and poured out onto the terrace. As the rooms became more and more crowded, the guests eventually spilled onto the lawn that went down to the lake.

  As the number of partygoers climbed, I inched my way around the ballroom. My hopes of buttonholing Monty or Tug, who I’d learned were friends of Alfred’s, were totally impractical. After dinner Violet had recruited me to fix a comb that had fallen out of her hair. I’d asked if Monty and Tug were Alfred’s friends. She’d said, “Yes, I suppose so. He does mention them often.” Violet was determined to dance every dance, so she and Alfred constantly circled the floor as best they could among the sea of glittering dresses and black ties, but neither Monty nor Tug were around them, and I didn’t see either of the men anywhere in the ballroom.

  Thinking they might be in another part of the ground floor, I went into the hallway that connected the ballroom with the entry to the house, the rococo reception hall with its gilded Georgian portraits and landscapes. People were rushing back and forth through the corridor. Screams, shrieks, and applause sounded from the direction of the reception hall. In the midst of all the movement, a still figure in the shadows against the wall caught my attention. It was Thea seated in a chair, listing to one side, her fingertips pressed to her forehead.

  I went across to her. “Are you all right?

  Thea moved her hand an inch and squinted at me. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. One of my migraines coming on.”

  Her face was washed out and had a pinched look. A giggling, squealing group of young women hurried by. Thea grimaced and covered her eyes.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

  “Lady Pamela was supposed to bring me one of her headache powders. She said they work wonders, but she disappeared.” Thea motioned down the hall without opening her eyes. “I believe she went into the dining room.”

  “I’ll see if I can find her for you.”

  The dining room was deserted except for a woman sitting in a man’s lap in the chair at the head of the table. They were very . . . involved and didn’t notice me. I closed the door and moved to the next room, a sitting room. I opened the door, and Lady Pamela jumped up from the seat beside a cherrywood piecrust table. Two young women beside her started and turned.

  “Lady Pamela,” I said. “Thea is waiting for you—”

  Lady Pamela rushed toward me, grabbed both my hands, and swung me around in a circle. “Oh, Olivia, didn’t I tell you Sebastian gives the most divine parties? Just too, too divine!”

  I was too startled to remind her my name was Olive, not Olivia, as I noticed the pupils of her eyes were enormous, leaving only a thin line of her green irises around the dark center. She twirled me around once more, then released me, and I bumped into the piecrust table and sent the flower arrangement on it rocking. Lady Pamela dashed out the door with the other two young women. As I steadied the vase, Lady Pamela reappeared in the doorway. “My handbag. I must have left—”

  “Here it is.” The bag had t
o be hers because the sparkly black and silver sequins matched her dress exactly. It lay on the table, half open, the contents spilling out. I replaced a compact and a cigarette case, and reached for the handkerchief. When I picked up the gauzy fabric, two bright jewels fell onto the table, square-cut emeralds edged in rows of diamonds. The facets of the stones reflected against the polished grain of the tabletop. I was surprised Lady Pamela wasn’t wearing such beautiful jewels, but perhaps she’d decided green didn’t go with her black dress. I replaced the jewelry in the bag. Lady Pamela snatched the bag from me and rushed out the door again.

  My fingers felt gritty, and I rubbed my thumb across my fingertips. A layer of fine powder coated my fingers. I went back to the piecrust table and switched on the light beside the flower arrangement. Specks of white powder dusted the shiny surface.

  I returned to Thea and found her in exactly the same position I’d left her. She asked, “Did you find the headache powders?”

  “No, and I don’t think you should take any type of powder from Lady Pamela. I’m sure the housekeeper will have something you can take.”

  “Yes, I suppose Mrs. Foster will have something. I should go to my room, I think.” She said the words as if she were contemplating a trek to the Arctic. She could barely keep her eyes open against the glare of the lights coming from the reception hall, and she cringed at every loud noise.

  I couldn’t leave her in this rowdy crowd. “Let me help you.” I reached for her elbow and steadied her as she came to her feet. We moved slowly down the hallway and emerged into the reception hall. “Oh my,” Thea said.

  A young man in evening attire was perched on a silver platter at the top of the stairs at the center of the red carpet runner. Anyone would have looked absurd poised at the top of the stairs, seated on a massive serving tray, but against the ornate flourishes of the plasterwork on the walls and the formal Georgian artwork, he looked even more ridiculous.

  Someone shouted, “Go!” and he rocketed down the staircase on the platter as if it were a sled. I’d never actually seen a cowboy ride a wild horse, but I supposed it would look something like the young man bucking and bouncing along the treads. He landed on the marble floor with a clatter, and a chorus of applause broke out.

  Thea leaned against my arm. “I don’t know if I can—I mean, will they let us through, do you think?”

  “I’ll see that they do.” I turned so that I wasn’t facing Thea and said in a loud voice, “Coming through. Excuse us. She needs some air.”

  I counted on the fact that these partygoers were familiar with people who couldn’t handle their drink, and everyone scurried out of our way. With my arm under Thea’s elbow, we climbed the now deserted stairs. Once we reached the first landing, the voices surged again as they resumed their sledding game.

  A footman waited at the landing. He came forward, his hand up as if to bar our way, but then he recognized Thea. He stepped back and let us pass. As I helped her up the last flight of stairs, I asked, “Why is the footman blocking the stairs?”

  “Oh, Sebastian always does that when he has a party.” Her voice was faint. I could tell going up the stairs was a great effort for her, so I wasn’t going to ask anything else, but she went on, “No guests above the ground floor—it’s his single rule. His studio and photography equipment are upstairs. He’s extremely particular about them. He doesn’t care a fig for the rest of the house, but if someone damaged anything related to his photographs . . . well, I don’t know what he would do.”

  “But aren’t there other staircases leading upstairs? Surely the servants have another staircase?”

  “Oh, yes. But a footman blocks that one as well. Sebastian is thorough. He would never take chances with his precious pictures.”

  Thea indicated which room was hers, and we went inside. I rang for a maid as Thea slowly lowered herself into a chair. “Your maid will be here soon,” I said as I turned off all the lights in the room except for a single table lamp in a far corner.

  Thea spoke with her eyes closed as she massaged her temple with one hand. “My maid didn’t accompany me. She’s sick and stayed in London with her sister.”

  “Would you like for me to ask for Muriel, then?”

  “No, she’s with the children. I’d rather she stayed with them. On a night like this, I know Paul will be tempted to sneak out to watch the fireworks, and it’s better she stay there to keep an eye on him.”

  Jane entered, throwing back the door. She caught it before it hit the wall and closed it gently. Jane stood for a second with her back to the room, and I saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath. When she had helped me dress for dinner that evening, she’d been deferential and helpful, but as she turned, she had a different air about her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled, but as soon as I explained Thea needed headache powders and possibly a sleeping draught, some of the pent-up energy that seemed to be buzzing around Jane faded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it.”

  I closed the door with a click, navigated around the party on the stairs, and returned to the ballroom. After the quiet dimness of Thea’s room, the exuberance of the ballroom was a shock. Voices shouted over the din of blaring music, and the crush was so tight I could barely see beyond the four or five bodies packed around me. I pushed between two people and bumped into Tug. I said, “I’ve been looking for you.”

  He leaned far too close and fanned me with sour, alcohol-laced breath. “Brilliant. I say, care to dance?”

  I thought of the fifty-pound retainer Aunt Caroline had already paid me. “Let’s,” I said. At least it was an upbeat number, which meant I wouldn’t have to fight to keep him at arm’s length.

  The song was already half over, but we shoved through the throng to the dance floor. When I had a chance, I asked, “Have you known Alfred long?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know where Alfred is.”

  “No, I said—”

  Tug continued, “He and Violet had a dust up. Trouble in paradise, I think.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said, diverted from my original train of thought. “What about?” An argument between Alfred and Violet might not be such a bad thing. If Alfred and Violet broke things off, Aunt Caroline and Gwen wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Of course, it would also mean I was out of a job. I pushed that thought away.

  “No idea. A woman, probably.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, Alfred is quite the ladies’ man—” He blinked. The fact that I was Violet’s relative must have risen through his alcohol-soaked brain. “I mean—er—that—”

  “Quite.” I would have left him squirming except he could be a good source of information about Alfred, so I rescued him. “How long have you known Alfred?” I asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

  “A while, I suppose. Hard to keep track of time, don’t you know.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “At a party.”

  The song ended, and a ripple of excitement flowed through the dancers along with the word fireworks. I was carried along with the tide as everyone rushed outside to watch the fireworks, and Tug and I were separated. I wasn’t actually that sorry to see him go. I broke away from the crowd and let them surge down to the lawn. I drifted across the terrace and down the stairs to the lawn, keeping an eye out for Gwen. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been in the ballroom, trying to keep an eye on Violet.

  “Hello, Olive.”

  I turned and saw Monty. He raised his lighter to a cigarette, and the flame highlighted his face for a moment. He offered his cigarette case. “Would you like one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He closed the case and tucked it away. “I believe if we stand over here away from these trees, we’ll have the best view of the fireworks.”

  A whine cut through the air, and the sky above us exploded into a starburst of light.

  “How are you enjoying the party?” I asked. Unlike Tug, Monty seemed to be as sober as he
had been earlier in the evening.

  The tip of the cigarette glowed red, then Monty blew a stream of smoke away from me. “Sebastian always puts on a good show.” Several fireworks went off, one after another, sparkling against the black sky as the lake mirrored the explosions. A trace of acrid smoke drifted across the lake, but it wasn’t enough to set off an asthma attack.

  “Where is Sebastian? I haven’t seen him.”

  “Probably watching from one of the balconies. It’s the best view—” Monty glanced over his shoulder at Archly Manor. “What the—?”

  I swung around at the intensity of his tone. Two figures struggled on the balcony. Silhouetted against the faint light coming from the open door behind them, it was impossible to distinguish anything more than a dark blur. The high-pitched drone of another firework lifting off sounded, then a bright explosion lit up the façade of the house. For just a moment, it revealed a man with dark hair in evening dress and a woman with short blonde hair in a sparkly dress. As the twinkling light of the firework faded, one figure went over the balustrade.

  Chapter Nine

  After a stunned second, I set off at a run toward Archly Manor, my thoughts jumbling together. Violet and Alfred—they’d planned to watch the fireworks upstairs. Had that been Violet on the balcony?

  Beside me, Monty sprinted toward the bulk of the house where patches of light shone from open windows. I was nearing the base of the terrace steps when I felt the familiar constriction in my chest as if a band were squeezing my lungs, cinching down tighter and tighter. I dragged in a ragged breath and told myself to calm down.

  Monty didn’t notice I’d slowed my pace. With his long stride, he widened the distance between us and raced up the shallow steps. My breathing evened out once I slowed down to a less frantic pace. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Monty was already on the far side of the terrace under the balcony.

  He stood completely still for a moment, staring down at the flagstones, then he spun away, a hand over his mouth. I had my breathing under control and headed for him. He stepped into my path and caught my upper arms in his hands. “Don’t go over there.”