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‘His face?’
‘His expression, his features. It was like he had seen a spectre.’
‘I suppose his muscles could have been contorted in pain,’ Alkmene said. ‘Or fear when he realized there was a stranger in his room waiting to club him. I heard it was done with a polo trophy?’
‘I could not say. I was not in the room. But he did have a lot of trophies there, large ones. We always had to dust them all, and make sure not a speck of dust was left on them. He liked them gleaming. He checked when the sun shone in to see if it had been done properly.’
The maid’s tone suggested that it had not been good if the master of the house found something wanting. Perhaps he had been endowed with the same nasty temper as his eldest son Albert?
‘It must be hard to run a household when there is no lady of the house to oversee to everything,’ she said casually.
The maid blinked. ‘But there is Lady Winters.’
‘I thought she died in India,’ Alkmene countered.
‘I mean, Master Albert’s wife. She has been acting like Lady Winters ever since they came here.’
The maid halted at a broad oak door with metalwork on it. ‘I never knew the real Lady Winters. As you say, she died in India.’
The maid nodded at the door. ‘This used to be her room. Her things were put there when the lord came back from India.’
Alkmene’s eyes widened. Her hostess had put her in the room that used to belong to Alkmene’s aunt? That was a little unconventional to say the least. No wonder the butler had tried to protest.
The maid retreated two steps. ‘If you need anything, you can ring.’ She turned and hurried off.
Alkmene frowned. When a servant accompanied a guest to a room, it was common for them to open the door, show the room, ask if anything was wanted. They didn’t take off like something scary was at their heels.
Or rather, waiting for them, inside of that room?
Having just encountered Helena’s venomous nature in the tea spill, she wondered if the room held another unpleasant surprise for her.
Alkmene put her hand on the door handle and took a deep breath. Her neck tingled with anticipation.
Or was it sweat?
Then she pushed the handle down.
The room was large but still seemed cramped because of everything that was in it. A huge four-poster bed, a dressing table with a chair in front of it. A side table beside the bed, a writing desk along the wall, a bookcase.
And boxes.
A lot of boxes stacked into rows of three or four on top of each other. It looked like a storage room instead of a guest room. Why had Helena put her in here?
Alkmene walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look out.
The view was of the back of the house, with a formal garden to the right, the stables to the left. A groom was walking a bay horse, patting it on the neck as he went. Someone had put the black horse that the youngest son had ridden home in a fenced-off area where it walked up and down, shaking its head restlessly. A dog lay lounging in the sunshine, ignoring the bustle about it.
Alkmene dropped the curtain back into place and studied the room again. She now saw her bags, which Jake had deposited on the other side of the bed. She wondered what he had thought of this room, of the many boxes in it.
She went over to them and opened the lid of the top box of one of the stacks. It was filled with clothes. Of the finest fabric with delicate lace, embroidery. A vague scent of lavender wafted out, mixed with stale perfume. Alkmene closed the lid again. She was not supposed to pry into things stored here, but instead needed to get out of her wet skirt.
She had just changed into something else when there was a knock on the door. She called, ‘Enter,’ and Jake appeared carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming water on it. ‘I heard from the butler that your skirt got stained in a little tea mishap,’ he said. ‘I insisted on taking water up to you to clean it at once.’
‘That is not your task. You will attract attention this way.’ Still she was relieved to see him and desperate to chat for a few minutes and alleviate the tension that hummed around her like an irritating mosquito.
Jake put the tray down and looked around. ‘Strange place to put a guest.’
‘This was actually my aunt’s room. Those must be all of her things transferred here after her death in India.’ Alkmene gestured at the boxes. ‘I am not sure why Helena gave me this room. She is the new Lady Winters, wife of the eldest son Albert. You met him when you came down the stairs. The house is so big that there must be other rooms available. Why of all those did she choose this room for me?’
Jake frowned as he surveyed her. ‘You look pale. Does it worry you that this is your deceased aunt’s old room?’
Alkmene straightened up. ‘Why should it worry me?’ Her heart was still beating in an irregular rhythm, but if she confessed any of her confusion to Jake, he’d just laugh at her. Think she was a rabbit, like he had thought before in Dartmoor.
She fetched the ruined garment from the bed and began to wet the tea stains over the bowl. ‘I agree it is odd, but it doesn’t bother me at all.’
Jake shrugged. ‘There seems to be a strange tense atmosphere in this place in general. I don’t think most ladies when pouring tea spill it all over their distinguished guests. She must be shaky somehow.’
‘I think she did it on purpose.’
‘What?’ Jake surveyed her with a frown. ‘Why?’
‘Either she wanted to end our cosy little tea party before it had begun, perhaps because of the questions I was asking about the death, or she wanted to get even with me for some reason. It felt like a child’s way of retaliating. Kicking into somebody, you know, throwing something all over him?’
Jake tilted his head. ‘Seems far-fetched to me. She is used to high society engagements. Whether she likes somebody or not, she can’t just go and ruin people’s clothes.’
‘You’d think not,’ Alkmene agreed. ‘Well, maybe it was just a way to avoid further conversation. I felt like I was just getting somewhere. She admitted she was up that night, walking about in the house, before Lord Winters died. She came to the study because she saw a light under the door and then found your friend standing over the dead body.’
Jake shook his head. ‘That is not right. Mac told me how he found the room. It was pitch dark. He stumbled over the body. He used a lighter to see around the room and noticed the safe was open and empty. Then people burst in and he was arrested. The light from his lighter can never have given so much light that it was visible under the door.’
Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘So Helena lied about having seen the light. She went to Lord Winters’ study for another reason. Maybe there is something to be discovered there?’
She dropped the stained skirt with a sigh. ‘I am no good at this. Take it along to the kitchen downstairs and ask some maid or the cook or whoever does the laundering here to look after it. Their new mistress stained it, so they should clean it up.’
Jake laughed softly. ‘At least now you admit to your deficiencies.’
Ignoring him, Alkmene looked at the boxes again. ‘It is odd that my aunt’s entire life is packed into those boxes that are now standing here in my room. Her clothes, her personal belongings. I never knew much about her. Now I am suddenly almost on top of her.’
Jake had picked up the skirt and was already at the door. He glanced back at her. ‘Are you sorry you came? Is it a problem?’ He didn’t sound teasing, but like he was genuinely concerned.
That actually made her own unrest worse.
Reluctantly, Alkmene shook her head. ‘It is not a problem. It is just a strange sensation, you know. For all of my life she has been like a shadow. I knew she existed but she was always so far away. Now she is suddenly here in my life. Or rather I am here in hers.’
Jake made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. ‘Don’t think too much about it. She is not important to us. We have to figure out which one of these people killed the late Lord Winters and framed my friend Mac for it.’
He held her gaze with a frown. ‘If I discover something worthwhile and want to share right away, I will sneak up here and put a note with the information…’ He glanced around for the perfect hiding place.
‘Don’t put it under my pillow or any place a servant might have any business with in my room.’
Jake nodded. ‘Behind that painting. No servant has business looking there.’
‘Remember you have no business coming to my bedroom either. You are a driver. Don’t arouse suspicion by acting out of character.’
‘I will only leave a note if it is really important. Take care.’ Jake walked out with the stained garment and closed the door.
Alkmene stood motionless, her hands folded in front of her. Now that Jake was gone and the bustle of their short interaction was over, the silence was stifling, descending upon her like a heavy woollen cloak, closing round her, taking her breath away.
In this deep silence a sudden sound filled the room, like a soft moan. It came at her from all sides, making it hard to detect what it was or where it originated.
Her heart pulsating in her neck, she looked around.
It took her a few minutes of concentrated listening to deduce it was only wind coming down the chimney and rustling around in the fireplace.
She exhaled in laughter at her own jumpiness. Of course somebody had recently been murdered in this house, but like Jake had explained to her on the way over, there had been a clear motive for that. The killer had murdered Lord Winters because he or she felt Lord Winters had to die. It did not mean that she, Alkmene, would be in any danger staying here.
Right?
Still thinking of the odd high-strung Helena, her violent husband Albert, demanding George who had actually hired a burglar to steal his own father’s stones, the nervous staff, she felt a shiver go up her spine and cold settle into her stomach. There didn’t seem to be a normal soul around this place. Just people who were all watching each other as if they were afraid for their lives, and scrambling to make sure they dealt the lethal blow first, instead of receiving it.
From an investigative point of view this was a good thing, because nervous people made mistakes, talked too much, might be persuaded to tell on others to save their own skin. She had to be happy that it seemed like something could be gotten here, and soon too.
But from a personal point of view, it just felt like a highly volatile household to be a part of, even for a little while.
Like sitting on a barrel full of gunpowder while a slow burning fuse led a spark of fire to it.
You never quite knew when it was going to blow up.
Chapter Six (#ulink_69b09155-c0ba-52d5-958f-899f853bf84f)
Because the household was grieving for the dead master, Alkmene decided not to wear an evening dress to dinner, but a simple blouse and skirt, in dark tones. She selected minimal jewellery – only a thin gold necklace and a matching bracelet. She brushed her hair but didn’t do it up or decorate it. She wanted to look very plain and demure. Not a threat to anybody.
However, as she came down the stairs and saw the company awaiting her in the drawing room, she realized her mistake.
The brothers were both in dark suits, the likeness between them eye-catching as they stood discussing something, each holding a glass of a honey-coloured liquid in their hands.
Helena was just filling her own glass. She wore a deep red dress with a daringly low-cut neckline, drawing attention to the necklace of fine rubies she wore. The stones sparkled under the light from on high, as if there was fire within them.
Helena’s hair was brushed back and decorated with a fine net of golden filigree as if a painter had worked his magic on it. Her mouth was the same colour as her dress, her cheeks heavily powdered, probably to hide the spot where her husband’s hand had made the mark.
Alkmene hesitated on the threshold. The two men didn’t notice her, but Helena did. She fixated on her with her deep dark eyes for a few moments, giving her a critical once-over. Then she smiled as if she was certain she was superior in this new meeting, this new struggle for the upper hand. She came over quickly, her dress rustling. Standing in front of Alkmene, she reached out the glass she had just filled. ‘Sherry.’
‘Thank you,’ Alkmene said, accepting it. She hesitated a moment wondering whether she should excuse herself for her clothes, but decided not to. It seemed that her better appearance had induced instant confidence in Helena, and Alkmene meant to draw her out as soon as she could. The mention of having seen light underneath the study door had been an outright lie. Helena had been up and about in the night for something, and Alkmene intended to find out exactly what it was.
She smiled and sipped her sherry.
The men turned to them. Albert’s relaxed expression changed the instant he saw his wife, his gaze settling on the rubies around her neck. ‘By George, did you have to wear those?’ he exclaimed. ‘We are a house in mourning.’
Helena reached up to run her fingers over the stones. It seemed almost like a caress. ‘They are so beautiful,’ she murmured.
Albert shook his head, but did not comment any more as if he did not want Alkmene to witness a scene. He probably didn’t realize she had seen him slapping his wife earlier. Perhaps he was eager to protect the facade of their perfect marriage?
His brother George just emptied his glass in a single draught and went to refill it.
‘George!’ Albert called to him. ‘Do meet our guest, Lady Alkmene. She is actually our cousin.’
George looked up, his cheeks reddish, his eyes aglow with something close to fever. ‘The poor branch of the family?’ he said, letting his eyes travel in a provocative way across Alkmene’s outfit.
Alkmene wanted to say something but refrained from it. George’s sense of superiority might make him underestimate her, and that was the very thing she wanted.
She focused on her glass of sherry as if she was embarrassed by his remark, too mortified to meet his eyes, let alone say something in return.
‘We have not heard from you for years,’ George said in the loud tone of someone trying to make a point. ‘Your father does something with plants, right? Write books or what?’
‘Treatises for journals.’ Alkmene sipped again. ‘It is a rather dry pursuit that I take little interest in.’
‘What do you take an interest in?’ George asked, his tone still too loud to be polite. Either he was trying to drown out his own insecurity or he was already tipsy.
‘Horse racing.’ Alkmene looked up to meet his eye. ‘Opera, theatre.’ She shrugged. ‘What else can one fill one’s time with these days?’
George laughed softly. He emptied the glass he had filled in two draughts and clanked it on the table.
Helena cringed at the sound.
George said, ‘If you know your bit about horse racing, we can talk, Alkmene. You don’t mind me calling you Alkmene, do you? You can just call me George. I haven’t got a title anyway. Second son, you know. Got the burden of family expectations, but no rewards to go with it. Now that Father has moved on, all of this belongs to dear Albert here. I get nothing.’
‘That is not exactly true,’ Albert said, his voice calm, but his eyes betraying his annoyance at his brother’s attitude. ‘Father has left you a substantial sum of money to live off, if you spend it wisely.’
His tone left little doubt that he didn’t believe his brother could manage the latter.
George held his head back and laughed. He was quite an attractive man, but his demeanour was marred by the weakness around his mouth and the exaggerated way in which he did everything. It was somehow forced, fake and therefore unappetizing.
George said, ‘You dare call that a substantial sum of money while you got this house, the land, the horses, the rents and the income from the businesses? You dare act like I got something, while I got absolutely nothing, all because I happened to have been born a year or two too late?’
Albert kept his expression neutral, but his tone was a bit vicious as he said, ‘I cannot help the order of our births, brother. But one could say when one considers closely that nature did not make a mistake.’
George opened his mouth to retort, no doubt with a jibe, when the door opened and a girl in a green dress walked in. The dress was simple but accentuated her trim figure. Her arms were bare, except for a few bracelets. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a bun that made her features stern, like they were hewn from stone. She halted two paces inside the room and looked at Alkmene. ‘I did not know we were entertaining tonight.’
The disapproval in her voice was obvious.
‘This is our cousin: Lady Alkmene,’ George said, his tongue catching on the combination of l-k-m. ‘She has come to pay her respects to dear deceased Daddy.’
The girl’s eyes went wide. ‘Alkmene. But… You never replied to any of my letters. I thought…’
Alkmene hurried to say, ‘I am very sorry about that. I did receive them and thought it was very kind of you to write to me. You must understand I have been quite busy this summer and… Well, I do hope I can make up for my earlier absence now. I am so sorry that your father died.’
‘He had it coming,’ George said.
The quiet conviction in the words was worse than any outburst of anger could have been. This was something George meant from the bottom of his heart.
