An Old Money Murder in Mayfair Read online

  Gigi hadn’t turned on the lights in the dining room, and the tall wood sections of the screen loomed over me. Suddenly feeling like a mouse caught in a trap, I went to the jib door and studied the wainscoting, trying to work out the location of the latch. I found it, a little groove on the underside of the chair rail. The door sprung open at the same moment Thorn’s voice boomed out so loudly that I jumped.

  “I suppose this will do.” The chandeliers blazed as someone flicked the electric switch. I froze where I was as the voices continued. “Sergeant, move some of these chairs away from the table. Leave one on each side of the table, then take a seat farther down.”

  While the sergeant shifted the chairs, I closed the jib door, moving it inch by inch until the latch engaged with a faint click. I tiptoed over to the bench, holding my breath, afraid I’d set off a cacophony of creaks as I crossed the bare floorboards.

  Thorn’s voice came again. “That’ll do, Sergeant. Have the old woman’s maid brought in. We’ll go through the day chronologically.”

  “I thought you’d insist on speaking to Lady Gina again or that you’d call for her friend—Miss Belgrave, wasn’t it?”

  I froze when he said my name. Gigi was right about the view in the mirror. It was positioned to perfectly reflect the center of the room.

  Thorn pulled out his chair and tossed his notebook on the table. “We’ll let Lady Gina stew for a bit,” Thorn said. “And as for her friend, Lady Gina sent her out to handle the obituary for the papers, so we’ll begin with the lady’s maid.” Thorn checked his notebook. “Mrs. Dowd.”

  I eased myself down onto the bench, letting out a breath. At least Thorn wasn’t going to call for me as the first interview. The sergeant started for the door, but Felix strode in, brushed by the man, and sat down across from the inspector. Thorn raised his hand at the sergeant, who was halfway to the door. It looked as if Thorn was about to motion to have Felix escorted out, but then Felix said, “I suppose I should tell you straightaway that there was no love lost between my grandmother and me.”

  Thorn dropped his hand, subtly signaling to the sergeant to come back to the table. “Indeed?”

  The sergeant slipped into his seat and took out his notebook and pencil. I settled in, my gaze on the mirror. It was rather like watching a play. If Thorn or the sergeant glanced at the mirror, I hoped their gaze would skim right over me in the dark corner. I wished I’d had time to change out of my sparkly dress, but I couldn’t do anything about it now.

  Felix lounged back in the chair, the wings of his hair falling away from his forehead. “I’m sure you’ll hear about it from the others. I was quite upset with her.”

  “Why was that?”

  “She’d done her best to prevent me from having any success with my writing.” Felix detailed how the dowager had encouraged a bad review for his play, and her ready admission of her actions when he had confronted her.

  Thorn looked up from jotting in his notebook. “She sabotaged you, then.”

  “Yes. She felt my time was better spent focusing on Alton House and my inheritance. I didn’t agree.”

  “And this made you angry?”

  “Yes. It would be foolish of me to pretend otherwise.”

  “Yet it’s something most people would hide.”

  “I find it quite tedious to hide from the truth. Much better to face it head-on.”

  “I see. And what were your movements yesterday?”

  “I spent the day writing. I had some very good news, you see, and it inspired me.”

  “Good news?”

  “Mr. Evans—you’ve heard of him?” Thorn shook his head. “He’s a producer—tremendously influential chap. He wasn’t put off by my grandmother’s actions. In fact, he’s anxious to produce another play.”

  Thorn looked at him blankly.

  Felix tapped his chest. “A play of mine.”

  Thorn telegraphed doubt with a tilt of his head. “But surely the results would be the same?”

  “Not this time.” Satisfaction filled Felix’s words. “We decided it would be under a nom de plume. Quite common for authors to use a pen name, you know. And because of that—the fact we’re using a pen name—I have absolutely no motive to poison Granny. She wouldn’t have known a thing about it.”

  The news that the dowager might have been poisoned must have been circulating throughout the house. It wasn’t surprising. Some of the servants, probably Dowd, would have attended Dr. Benhurst, and Elrick had telephoned the police.

  Thorn stared at Felix. Felix’s confident smile became set as the silence stretched. He shoved the chair back. “I must get on. Words to write, you know.”

  “Not just yet.” Thorn’s tone arrested Felix’s movement. He froze, his back angled slightly forward, his legs tensed to rise from the chair. “Make yourself comfortable,” Thorn said. “We’re not finished here. Take me through your day—in detail.”

  Felix collapsed back into the chair. His confident pretense slipped away. His skin paled, taking on the tone of bread dough. He swallowed. “Yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I said, I was in my room, as I am every day.”

  “All day?” Thorn asked, his tone incredulous, and I realized he used his replies of surprise or doubt to tease out more information.

  Felix swallowed again. “Yes. All day. I was typing. I have the pages to prove it. I had meals brought to me. And the maids will attest to the sound of typing coming from my room, I’m sure,” he finished, a note of relief in his voice.

  “The entire day? You never left?”

  “No. Well, only to go down the hall to the—er—lavatory a few times.”

  “What about during the evening?”

  “Oh. Yes. Right. I did leave then—to celebrate with Mr. Evans.” Felix straightened, relief washing over his face. “And Gigi saw me. That is, my cousin, Lady Gina. She was at Grafton Galleries with her friends. We didn’t speak, but she’ll confirm I was there.”

  “She already has. Thank you for your time.” Thorn stood.

  Felix bounced up, his face a picture of confusion. “But if you already knew, why did you ask?”

  “Because we must check these things.”

  “Oh. I see.” Felix turned away to leave, but he didn’t look as if he found Thorn’s last words reassuring.

  Once Felix departed, Thorn told his sergeant to question the maids. “See if they indeed heard typing all day long. I’ll see the dowager’s maid next. If anyone knows what happened with the old woman, it’ll be her.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Thorn began the interview with Dowd by asking for her full name.

  Dowd sat straight and correct, her hands folded in her lap. “Angelina Joanna Dowd.”

  The melodious name did not go with Dowd’s pursed lips and disapproving frown.

  Thorn asked, “How long have you been with the dowager?”

  “Fourteen years.” Her reply was short and sharp. “I don’t see why that’s here or there. Or why you’re even speaking to me. It’s clear as day who’s done this.”

  “Did you see something you want to share with us, Mrs. Dowd? Or perhaps you know something relevant?”

  “I have eyes in my head, Inspector.” She gave a quick nod. “It’s well known who hated my mistress.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “Lady Gina, of course. I don’t know why you haven’t taken her away yet. She should be under lock and key for what she’s done.”

  Thorn looked up from his notes. “Lady Gina and the dowager . . . they didn’t have an easy relationship?”

  Dowd laughed, a bitter sound. “No. Her Grace did her best to rein her in, but Lady Gina fought her at every turn. Of course, Lady Gina’s upbringing is to blame. The lack of rules, the frivolousness of her mother—well, it’s difficult to counteract that. The dowager did try.”

  I hadn’t realized the extent of Dowd’s animosity toward Gigi. She hadn’t been exaggerating at all when she said Dowd hated her.
r />   “Did the dowager say anything to you about changing her will?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s at the root of all of this. That spiteful little minx wanted the money and poisoned my mistress to get it.”

  Thorn’s shoulders shifted in what looked like a suppressed sigh. “Did the dowager say anything specific about her will?”

  I felt a tiny bit sorry for him, having to circumvent Dowd’s rage in an effort to find any actual details.

  “Her Grace said she planned to change it.”

  “When did she plan to change it?”

  “She didn’t say, sir.”

  “I see. And did she say what part of the will she intended to change?”

  “No. It was a general statement, but I knew she meant to cut out her granddaughter. It was only right. Lady Gina’s fast behavior shouldn’t be rewarded.”

  Thorn said, “Tell me about yesterday with as many specifics as possible.”

  Dowd shifted in her seat. “I don’t see—”

  “Mrs. Dowd, please answer the question.” Thorn softened his tone. “I suspect you’re a keen observer and can give me valuable insight into the household.”

  Dowd smoothed her cuffs, and I could tell by the tiny smile she permitted herself that she was pleased. “That is true. I’m very watchful, especially where my mistress is—was—concerned.”

  After listening to Dowd for a few minutes, I had no doubt that statement was true. Gigi thought Dowd was a snoop and a spy, and it sounded as if Gigi had been spot-on in her assessment.

  Dowd said, “I took Her Grace her breakfast tray at nine.”

  Thorn asked, “What did she have to eat?”

  “Her usual, tea and toast.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Well, of course, marmalade—as she always does—but I had to send Stella down to the kitchen for it because the new kitchen maid is incompetent. I don’t know why Cook has kept her on.”

  “How much did the dowager eat?”

  “All of it,” Dowd said. “It wasn’t much to begin with—just two pieces of toast,” she added as if she didn’t want Thorn to think the dowager was a glutton.

  “And after breakfast?”

  “I helped Her Grace prepare for the day, and she left for her appointment with her dressmaker.”

  “Did you accompany her?”

  “No, Miss Clack did.”

  “And how was the dowager feeling before she left?”

  “She mentioned that breakfast hadn’t settled well, but she would never let a little thing like that slow her down. She went on with her day.” Pride infused Dowd’s words.

  Thorn took down the name of the dressmaker. “Did the dowager go anywhere else?”

  “She did not. She returned here directly from the dressmaker. She decided to skip luncheon.”

  “I see. There was no indication she wanted a doctor?”

  “Oh, no. She only wanted a bit of rest. She often had a touch of indigestion, and that was all it was—usually.” Dowd tacked on the last word, her tone malicious.

  “And then what happened?”

  “Her Grace rang for me around half past three. When I inquired, she said she felt fine. I helped her change into an afternoon tea gown. She went down to meet her granddaughter in the drawing room.”

  “Who was at tea?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask that mi—her granddaughter.”

  “When did you next see the dowager?”

  “Not until later that evening when I took her dinner tray to her.”

  “So she had a tray in her room?”

  “Yes. She’d sent word down earlier that she’d be dining in her room that evening. I took her tray to her.”

  “Did you speak to her then?”

  “Yes. And before you ask, I’ll tell you that she had the same food as everyone else in the household. Fish chowder, poulets rôtis au cresson, truffle salad, and mousse à l’orange.” Dowd turned to the sergeant. “Do you need me to spell out the dishes, young man?”

  “No, madam. Thank you.”

  Dowd looked as if she didn’t believe him, but I’d watched him write the words without pause.

  “Did you take the tray away later?” Thorn asked.

  “Yes. She hadn’t eaten much. I helped her change into her nightclothes, then she said she was going to read before going to bed. I took the tray down to the kitchen and left it with the scullery maid. That was the last I heard from Her Grace until she rang for me during the night. At that point . . .” Dowd’s lips worked up and down as she fought to control her emotions. She pulled a handkerchief from her cuff, blew her nose, then sat up straighter. “I apologize. It was extremely distressing. I knew as soon as I went into her room that something was very, very wrong. She was in great distress, and I insisted on calling Dr. Benhurst.”

  Thorn didn’t press her for details about the exact form of the dowager’s illness, and for that I was rather glad. I was sure he’d be able to get that information from the doctor. Instead he asked, “In all your trips back and forth to the dowager’s room during the day, did you notice any sounds from Viscount Daley’s room?”

  Dowd frowned at the change of topic. “No. He’s not my concern.”

  “You didn’t hear the sound of the typewriter coming from his room?”

  “I can’t say that I did or didn’t. He’s always clattering away, making an awful rat-tat-a-tat. I block it out.”

  “So he might have been typing?”

  “Possibly. As I said, I don’t concern myself with Viscount Daley.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dowd. That will be all. If you could send in the upstairs maid who was on duty—Stella, wasn’t it?”

  Dowd put her handkerchief away and stood. “I look forward to seeing justice done in this case. I expect you’ll take away Lady Gina soon?”

  “We’ll do our jobs, Mrs. Dowd. Now, if you please, send in Stella.”

  Dowd scowled at him before she left. As soon as Dowd passed into the hall, Thorn turned to the sergeant. “When we’re done here, check with the kitchen and see if there is anything left from last evening’s dinner. If so, we’ll take it away and have it tested.”

  The sergeant said, “I’ve already asked. Nothing remained from dinner. The food from the dowager’s tray was tossed out. Nothing left from the tea either.”

  “Not even a tea cake?” Thorn asked.

  “No, sir. The tray was knocked over—everything was spilled on the floor and had to be cleaned up.”

  “Who knocked over the tray?”

  “According to the maids, Lady Gina.”

  “I see.”

  I didn’t like the satisfaction in Thorn’s tone.

  The sergeant went on, “While I was belowstairs, I also asked about rat poison. The household keeps it in a storage room off the kitchen. Anyone in the house could have taken some. I secured the container.”

  “Did you, now?” Thorn gave his sergeant a long look.

  “Just trying to be thorough, sir.”

  Thorn’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything else, Stella appeared, hesitating on the threshold. Her flyaway hair had been slicked back, and she ran her hands over her skirt, smoothing it down in a nervous gesture as she waited. Thorn rose and waved her in. When she was seated and had stated her full name, Stella Beatrice Barstow, and the location of her home village in Surrey, Thorn said, “We’re retracing the events of yesterday, so please take us through what you did, beginning in the morning.”

  Stella, her hands locked together in her lap, spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear her. “Well, the kitchen maid knocks on our door at five forty-five—”

  “Not that early,” Thorn said, and Stella started when he broke into her narrative. Unlike Dowd, she clearly found the experience of being interviewed by the police alarming. Thorn noticed her reaction and said, “You’re not to worry. Just tell us about your activities from about nine o’clock on.”

  “Yes, sir. Nine o’clock is when we take the trays
up. Her Grace insisted that a tray be taken to Lady Gina’s room at nine, even though Lady Gina never touches it. She doesn’t even move at that hour.” Stella seemed to relax as she talked about the routine. Her hands loosened, and I didn’t have to strain to hear her as the volume of her voice returned to normal.

  “So you took the tray into her room—”

  “Oh, no. Nina—she’s the new kitchen maid—forgot to put a spoon on the tray. I noticed it was missing when I spoke to Miss Belgrave. She was on her way down to breakfast and had said good morning to me.”

  I had to smile at Stella’s omission of our conversation. I didn’t blame her for keeping quiet. Offering to give away Lady Gina’s breakfast tray certainly wasn’t something she should have done.

  “So you didn’t take the tray into Lady Gina’s room . . .” Thorn said, and I thought he was trying to keep her focused on her story.

  “Oh, no not then. Mrs. Monce would have had a fit when the tray came back to the kitchen and she saw I’d taken it in without a spoon. I put the tray down on the table in the hall, nipped down to the kitchen, and fetched a spoon. Then Mrs. Dowd poked her head out of Her Grace’s room and told me to fetch some marmalade. It was missing from Her Grace’s tray.” Stella shook her head. “That Nina’s too scatterbrained to work in the kitchen. She should be in the scullery washing up. She couldn’t cause any upsets there.”

  Thorn turned back a page in his notes. “And what did you do about the marmalade?”

  “I fetched it.”

  “Did you go into Her Grace’s room?”

  “No. I knocked, and Mrs. Dowd took the marmalade from me. Didn’t even say thank you, either!”

  “And what did you do next?”

  “I took the tray into Lady Gina’s room. She didn’t even know I was there. Snoring away, she was. Then I began on the other rooms, opening windows to let them air, dusting the furniture and woodwork, sweeping, cleaning the . . .”

  As Stella went on, I stifled a yawn and gave myself a little shake. My all-night adventure was catching up with me.

  Thorn interrupted her. “Did you see or interact with the dowager during the rest of the day?”