Nobody's Sweetheart Now, page 18
part #1 of Lady Adelaide Mysteries Series
Long enough for his own quick, selfish pleasure, however.
“And she was lucid?”
“Yes. Brazen.” Shipman’s mouth twisted. “Happy. Euphoric.”
“Did she say if she was meeting anyone else?”
“No. Really, you might not believe me, but we barely spoke that afternoon. I assumed she was in the area to see her children. She knew we were coming down, and thought it was a lark to meet me when Angela was right across the lawn.” He gave a ragged sigh. “I’ve been a fool, Inspector. I’ll admit to that. But I swear I did not have anything to do with her death. I liked her. She was one-of-a-kind.”
“She never threatened to tell your wife of the affair?” Dev asked.
“Of course not! Why would she?”
“Blackmail, Mr. Shipman.”
The man chuckled. “You’ve got Kath all wrong. She wasn’t like that. Not a mean bone in her body.”
Not according to her ex-husband. Dev was beginning to think Kathleen Grant had had as many colorful pieces as the inside of a kaleidoscope. Each viewer saw something different—bright, quicksilver, impermanent. How much was a result of the drugs or her own personality was impossible to determine.
She’d led a severely sheltered childhood. Married young and took on motherhood too soon. Once unshackled, she pushed every limit. Who she was at heart would now never be known.
After Shipman left, with a warning, Dev turned to Lady Adelaide. “Well? What do you think?”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
He considered for a moment. “He’s lied religiously. The diary is damning. I could have arrested him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I think he finally told the truth.”
“I think so too. Gosh, am I the only person who doesn’t use drugs? Ernest Shipman? I wonder if Angela knows all that he’s been up to.”
Dev smiled. “It’s impossible to know what goes on behind the façade of respectability.”
“I should know that. I do know that.” She shook her head, the ribbon on her straw hat fluttering. “I feel like I’m finally waking up. And I’m not sure I want to.”
“I hope you don’t become jaded. I shouldn’t have involved you. Police work can bring you into contact with too much reality.” Which was one reason he spent so much time reading philosophy. He may not have a university degree, but Dev felt he could go toe-to-toe with some of the dubiously graduated gentlemen he’d encountered.
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep plodding along. Hope to hear from the Hallidays.”
She placed a finger against her chin. “I wonder…”
Her instincts had been good so far. “What?”
“What if George did know Kathleen was his long-lost cousin? He might have gone to Yorkshire to see his grandfather.”
He’d talked to the Yorkshire solicitors a week ago, but they might not be aware the Hallidays had arrived. “That could explain why I can’t find them in London.”
Lady Adelaide frowned. “I just can’t see George—or Pansy, for that matter—doing something so heinous, even if they need the money. George is so…average. And the old man might live on forever. Unless,” she said with grisly enthusiasm, “George has gone to Yorkshire to murder him!”
“We don’t need any more murders, Lady Adelaide. Two is quite enough. And one of the deaths…I wonder. Could Lady Grant have miscalculated and overdosed? Maybe she wasn’t killed deliberately after all, and I’ve been barking up all the wrong trees. Now that we know of Miss Pryce’s participation in positioning the body, I’ve got to consider that.”
“But how did my gardener die? Unless you think he took Kathleen’s drugs from her handbag!”
“I admit that’s unlikely. Ready to go? Let’s see who looks guilty over the funeral meats.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Holly Hill was looking its best on this sunny afternoon. A modest Georgian manor house, it had been home to the Grant family for two hundred years and had been cared for lovingly. Fading pink brick, sharp white trim, and, of course, masses of holly bushes made for a pretty picture. Sir David was an avid gardener, although Addie ventured that most of his garden and glasshouse had been stripped to decorate the church and Kathleen’s coffin. A few cars were parked at the bottom of the steep drive, and Mr. Hunter pulled up behind the last of them. Two uniformed police officers stood as sentries.
He looked at Addie’s black pumps. “I’ve been up this hill a few times. Do you want me to drop you at the door?”
“I’ve been here a few times myself. I’m not so decrepit I can’t climb.” Even though she’d yanked yet another gray hair out just this morning.
“This hill must be a treat in the winter.”
“It is, actually. For the boys. They slide down on their sleds.” Last winter, Rupert was among them. He’d been good with the Grant children, acting like a child himself.
“I resent that.”
Addie stumbled and turned. Rupert was behind her, hands in his pockets. He winked.
Well, he had warned her he might attend the gathering. Mr. Hunter put a hand under her elbow. “All right?”
“Yes, of course. There was a pebble in my shoe.” A large one named Rupert.
They were greeted by Moss, Sir David’s butler, and escorted onto the back terrace. A marquee had been set up on the lawn, and if it wasn’t for the plethora of black clothing, one would think one was at a garden party. Addie recognized most of the guests, and headed straight for Sir David to give him a hug.
He looked rested, less careworn than he had at Compton Chase. Sudden death must agree with him, she thought, a little unkindly.
“Lady Adelaide, thank you for coming.”
“Don’t you think we should be David and Addie after all that’s happened?”
“You’re right. I want to thank you for everything—the books for the boys especially.” At Addie’s direction, Cook had sent meals over to Holly Hill as well.
Addie heard a shriek from behind a hedge. “How are they doing?”
“Pretty well, considering. Eloise has them in hand, for the most part. She’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she?” He spotted her across the grass and waved. Eloise waved back, a serene smile on her face. Somehow she looked much less like a spinster today than she had the weekend before last.
Oh dear. Poor Cee.
“Yes, she is. She’s had a lot of heartbreak. It would be nice if she found happiness.” Unless she was a murderess…no. Eloise was the type of woman who caught moths inside and released them unharmed to go munch on someone else’s woolens. She, like Lucas, was simply too good.
“I agree. Inspector, any news?”
“Some. Nothing conclusive, though. Thank you for allowing me to come.”
“Whatever will help bring this nightmare to an end. You saw the press outside?”
“Only at the church. They seem to have been scared off by the men on your driveway.”
“Good. Nothing to see here anyhow. Help yourselves to lunch. I’m going to check on the boys.” David ambled off in the direction of a blood-curdling yelp.
“And I’m going to walk the garden perimeter, see if anyone’s trying to vault over the wall. That will give you a chance to talk to your family and friends.”
Addie’s mother was sitting under the shade of the tent wearing the very becoming new hat that she hadn’t needed. Cee was with her, looking droopy and holding an empty champagne glass. Champagne seemed an odd choice for a funeral reception, but perhaps David was celebrating his ultimate freedom.
Mr. Hunter hadn’t arrested Shipman, or Barbara either, despite them providing false information—and in Barbara’s case, tampering with evidence as well. The trouble with this detecting business—no one, even those who had been proven liars, seemed capable of murder. Addie supposed anyone could take a life if they were sufficiently provoked. She hoped she’d never be in the position to find out.
“Too late to try to kill me now anyway,” Rupert said from his perch on the terrace railing. “You had your chance.”
She lowered her head so the brim would cover her face. “Stop talking to me in public.”
He hopped down. “All right. I’ll go circulate and see if I hear anything incriminating. That Eloise is a dark horse, isn’t she? Moving right in to save the day. I hear wedding bells.”
“I wonder why Babs dislikes her so.”
“Oh, that’s easy. I overheard Babs explaining all to the pretty little fraulein last night when I couldn’t find a place to sleep.”
“You sleep?” She pictured him hanging upside-down like a bat on a branch.
“Sleep is not really the word we use for it, but yes. One must recharge one’s batteries for the challenges ahead. Anyway, Eloise came upon Kath and Babs having lunch in London. Let’s just say they were both under the influence of their respective vices and a little too obvious. Eloise was shocked, to put it mildly, and expressed that shock in no uncertain terms. She’s a traditionalist. Conventional with an upper case C. Very little imagination. David won’t be having any trouble with her.”
The same could be said about Addie. All in all, these past ten days had been eye-opening. How had she managed to stay so clueless for so long? She was a thirty-one-year-old woman. Had lived through a dreadful war and its aftermath. Was widowed in the most embarrassing way. She felt like a thoroughbred that had been blinkered all its life.
Enough. She wandered over to the marquee, where a lovely compilation of sandwiches and sweets was laid out. Filling a plate, she joined her mother and sister at a small round table.
“Pretty hat, Mama.”
“Thank you, dear. I hear there was some excitement yesterday at Compton Chase. Do I need to call Barbara’s mother?”
Addie stuck her tongue out at Cee, who stuck hers right back. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Babs seems better today.”
“Her parents are worried sick. All they want for her is to marry and settle down. Cee tells me this latest fellow is gone.”
“I think it’s for the best,” Addie said without explaining. Babs’ parents would have a long wait if they were hoping to buy a tulle veil and bridal bouquet for their only daughter.
Or would Babs betray her own inclinations and go for fiancé number six? Addie supposed, with her new knowledge, that one could be receptive to male and female offers, as Kathleen Grant had been.
Her mother sighed. “Another scandal. Thank heavens the Pryces didn’t put an announcement in The Times. I understand from Hetty that he was unsuitable anyway. He had no people to speak of.”
Living people, at any rate. Who wouldn’t want a medium in the family? He might be useful in all sorts of domestic crises.
Unless he was the murderer.
Addie’s limited imagination was running away with her. She looked around. There was no sign of Angela—her husband must have picked her up and sped back to London. That was a car ride Addie was happy to miss. Mr. Hunter had stopped to chat with Babs and her nurse, and caught a balsa wood airplane in one hand as it flew his way. A band of tow-headed boys barreled out of the bushes after it, and were treated to a mild lecture from the policeman. Turning the toy over to the oldest, he moved next to Lucas and Eloise.
It was hard for Addie not to compare the two men. Of similar height and build, Mr. Hunter was as dark as Lucas was fair. The inspector was a few years older, most definitely a serious adult, while Lucas still had plenty of boyish charm. Lucas, like David Grant, had been based in London during the war and had been little touched by its hardships, either personally or financially. Addie had observed Mr. Hunter limping on occasion, and wondered if he’d been wounded.
She shouldn’t be wondering about Devenand Hunter at all.
“Penny for them,” Cee said.
“Oh, I was admiring Eloise. That dress looks well on her. It has more style than her usual frocks.”
“I’m off for more champagne,” Cee said abruptly, leaving for the bar, where Moss was now presiding over a drinks table.
Addie’s mother leaned forward. “I saw her at Fenwick on Bond Street yesterday. She was carrying a dress box. I asked her if she wanted to come home with me instead of on the train, but she stayed here last night.” She pursed her lips in disapproval.
“For heaven’s sake, Mama, Eloise is not some twenty-five-year-old girl like Cee. If she can get David Grant up to scratch, bully for her.”
“I suppose you’re right. Part of me is delighted, of course. With Eloise in the picture, Cee might finally look elsewhere. But she’s my daughter, and I can’t bear to see her hurt by that foolish man. I do want her to be happy, whoever her choice might be.”
“Don’t press her and try to matchmake. She’ll hate it. And it’s not as if potential husbands grow on trees now, either. Give her time.” So many young men that managed to stay alive in war were uninterested in settling down in peace. London nightlife was burgeoning with subscription night clubs, jazz hangouts, and wild supper parties. Police raids were common. The Prince of Wales just missed being swept up in one at the private nightclub, the Embassy.
“Time! I’d like to be a grandmother one day.” Her mother blushed. “I’m sorry—that was tactless of me. I know you and Rupert tried.”
At this point, Addie was glad she didn’t have children, when their mother could so easily be declared insane. Although—both Gerald Dumont and Reverend Rivers didn’t think ghosts were out of the question. She could take some comfort in that.
“How’s the vegetarianism going?” Addie asked, changing the subject.
“She tried to enlist poor Barbara to the cause in the churchyard. That German nurse put a stop to that. There was firm talk about vitamins and protein necessary for Barbara’s full recovery. She seems very capable, despite looking like she should be on the cover of a candy box.”
Even in a simple black sack dress and plain cloche, the nurse stood out. “She is very pretty. I wonder what her story is.”
“I know that. Her father was one of the Kaiser’s doctors. Hetty was very impressed with her credentials.”
“I hope she can help Babs.”
“Perhaps Kathleen Grant’s death will be a wake-up call. Drugs bring nothing but death. The woman could have accidentally killed herself, don’t you think?”
Now that Addie had some of the facts of that fatal afternoon, she supposed it was possible. Even Mr. Hunter had mentioned something like it. But that still didn’t explain why Mr. McGrath had been murdered.
She was coming to feel more charitably toward Kathleen. She’d certainly left a positive impression on those who were close to her, with the exception of her ex-husband. And, as Mr. Hunter said, who really knew what went on behind closed doors? The most proper of people might be petty tyrants or perverts. Maybe David Grant had faults Addie hadn’t seen yet.
Maybe he murdered his ex-wife.
Oh, bother. She couldn’t accuse everyone.
“I don’t know, Mama. Mr. Hunter is working hard trying to figure it all out.”
“He’s staying with you as well?” Her mother’s tone was light, but Addie heard her reservation.
“Yes.” Never complain, never explain. If it was good enough for Disraeli, it was good enough for her.
“Oh, look who’s come! There’s Pansy and her husband. I didn’t realize she was so friendly with the Grants.”
Addie turned around. Well, Mr. Hunter would be pleased he wouldn’t have to go all the way to Yorkshire.
Chapter Thirty
Pansy looked plump and pretty, her dark hair curling under the brim of a very fashionable hat. George was also well-turned out, wearing an expensive-looking new suit. They must have come into a windfall from somewhere.
Addie excused herself and met them on the terrace. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to pay our respects. Unfortunately, we missed the funeral. George had a punctured tire.”
They had a new car too? Interesting.
Pansy took Addie’s hand. “I have something to tell you.”
Several somethings. Addie was glad she was still wearing her gloves. “Mr. Hunter has been looking for you for a week.” He was coming toward them right now.
Pansy made a face. “I know. But we can explain. It was a sort of emergency.”
“I hope so. He could charge you for obstruction or…or something.” She was not conversant with legal terminology or consequences, but would like to toss Pansy in a dank dark cell for old times’ sake.
“Hunter!” George stuck out his hand as the detective mounted the terrace steps. “Awfully glad to run into you here. They said you were in the country. Scotland Yard, that is. Phoned your office yesterday.”
“Mr. Halliday. Mrs. Halliday. I do have some questions for you, but I’m not sure this is the time or place. Please accept my condolences on the death of your cousin.”
George cleared his throat nervously. “About that. I only found out recently. Just a few weeks ago. Something Kathleen said at a dinner party about her mother reminded me of something my mother told me. Almost word for word, all the bells ringing. I went home and looked in the family Bible and, sure enough, there she was, though my mother had scratched out most of the names and it was devilish tricky to read. Could have knocked my socks off. There was an ancient family feud, you know. The two sisters and my grandfather didn’t get along.” He took a breath. “I would have told Kathleen but didn’t get the chance to. Odd that all these years of running into her at various places I never guessed we were related.”
“You didn’t think to tell me at our interview?”
“I know it looks bad. But I’ve read the books—‘who stands to benefit from the death of so-and-so?’ Finger points right to me and Pansy, doesn’t it? Look, I want to get all this off my chest. Where can we talk?” He paused. “Though I really should go see Sir David first.”
