Death Wears a Mask (22 page)

I hesitated. I was unaccustomed to discussing my private affairs with others, but there was something about Mamie's warm personality that made me feel I could confide in her.

I closed my compact, slipping it back into my handbag. “It has caused no small amount of strife, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“Did … did he admit to it, then?” she asked, concern apparent on her features.

“No,” I answered wearily. “He says it's not what it appears to be.”

“Well, maybe it's not.” There was something so hopeful in her expression, I almost felt as though I should feel sorry for her and not the other way around.

“That would be easier to believe if it had never happened before,” I said, looking at my expressionless reflection in the mirror. “But this is not the first time. Not nearly the first time.”

“Oh. I see.”

I managed a smile. Somehow the telling of it was a relief. “There have always been explanations, of course. He's very good at making excuses. And thus far I've been very good at believing them. But it's easier to explain away a strange woman clinging to his arm than it is one kissing him on the mouth.”

“He's terribly handsome,” she said absently. “I suppose women are bound to flock to him.” She blushed suddenly. “I suppose that was an impertinent thing to say. I'm sorry. Sometimes things come out before I have a chance to think them through.”

I laughed. “You needn't worry about that. I find it refreshing when people say what they're really thinking.”

“I only meant that I suppose women throw themselves at him without much encouragement.”

“Yes, well, he isn't required to do such an efficient job of catching them.”

She smiled a bit sadly at my response. “You're right, of course. But you're here together tonight. So are things on the mend? You're not … considering a divorce?”

“Divorce is not an easy thing in England,” I said carefully.

She nodded. “I understand it's much more complicated here. It only takes six weeks in America, if you fly to Reno. It's almost too easy.”

Six weeks. I wondered fleetingly if Milo and I would still be married now, were things so simple in this country.

“One can't simply obtain a divorce in England,” I told her. “There must be proof of infidelity. I've known of couples who wanted a divorce and couldn't obtain one because neither of them was actually unfaithful. The husband has arranged to be ‘caught' with a woman in a hotel.”

“How very scandalous,” she whispered.

“I believe it is usual for the husband to take the blame. However, in my case, there's no need for that pretense.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, and I was touched by the sincerity in her expression. Absurdly, I almost felt the need to comfort her.

“Nothing's been decided,” I said. “I suppose I'll cross that bridge if it comes to it.”

She held out her hand and gripped mine warmly. “I hope things work out for you, Amory. I truly do.”

“Thank you, Mamie.”

One could always hope.

I took my lipstick from the handbag, and a thought came to me suddenly. “I meant to ask you, did you find your earring?” I asked in a casual way as I applied a fresh coat to my lips.

“Earring?” she repeated absently, tucking a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear.

“I saw Mr. Douglas-Hughes at Lord Dunmore's house, and he said he was there looking for an earring you had misplaced at the ball.”

It seemed to me she hesitated ever so slightly before she rose to her feet. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I found it in our car. I suppose we'd better go back to the table before they miss us.”

 

20

I FELT, SOMEHOW,
disappointed by Mamie's lie. Try as I might to reason it away, I could think of no reason why both she and her husband should claim she had lost an earring when she had not been wearing any at the ball. It was depressingly suspicious.

It was still on my mind as we said good night to the party and made our way out of the restaurant.

“I must say that was very well played, my dear,” Milo said, as we stepped out into the night air.

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently, though I knew perfectly well to what he was referring.

“This business of allowing me to believe we were going to dinner to talk and instead dragging me into your little schemes.”

“We're talking now, aren't we?” I asked, moving toward the car.

He caught my arm before we reached it. “Wait a moment. I want to talk to you, Amory.”

“We can talk on the way to the flat.”

“In front of Markham?” he asked, brows raised inquiringly. He had me there, for he knew perfectly well where I stood on that score.

I sighed. “Very well. Then you may come up for a while.”

“You know perfectly well that we cannot have a decent conversation with Winnelda creeping about the house.”

“She's probably gone to bed by now.”

“I want to be alone with you,” he said in a low voice, and I ignored the little thrill the words evoked. I absolutely refused to fall prey to his charms this evening.

“Why?” I challenged.

“Because I have things I need to say.”

I considered this, and he seemed to take my silence for assent.

“I'm staying at the Ritz. We can talk there.”

“I don't think so, Milo.”

“Why not?”

Our eyes met, and I could read the challenge in his. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. It was that I didn't trust myself. I was honest enough to acknowledge that I was entirely too vulnerable where Milo was concerned. Still, I wavered. Some ridiculous and hopelessly romantic part of me still hoped there was a chance to mend things.

“Please,” he asked softly. “Just for a little while.”

I sighed, unwilling to argue with him or myself any longer. “Very well. But only for a little while.”

*   *   *

AFTER A SHORT
drive, we pulled up in front of the hotel, the imposing façade aglow, and Milo assisted me from the car. The evening had grown cool, and I was very aware of the warmth of him beside me.

“I'll be down in an hour, Markham,” I said.

“Very good, madam.”

Milo took my arm, and we walked into the hotel and across the bright, gleaming lobby to the lift.

We arrived on his floor; walked down the long, carpeted hallway; and entered his suite of rooms. He switched on the lights, and I glanced around. The sitting room was lovely, with high ceilings, ivory walls and carpeting, and expensive furniture arranged around a marble fireplace. I could see through open French doors the adjoining bedroom and bath.

Milo helped me with my coat, and I took a seat on the blue and yellow patterned sofa as he ordered coffee for me and then moved to pour himself a drink. It felt strange to be a guest visiting my husband's accommodations, and I felt somehow that I didn't want to discuss our marriage, not just yet.

“What is it that you've learned about the murder?” I asked him. “You told me you'd tell me at dinner.”

“I have half a mind to keep it to myself after your little charade this evening,” he replied, putting the glass stopper back in the decanter. “That was not how I had planned to spend my evening.”

“I already had the engagement with the Douglas-Hugheses when you asked me to dinner; I thought I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“Yes, well, stoning might have been preferable to an evening spent sitting next to that Echols woman.”

“She seemed to find you charming.”

He shot me a look as he took a seat beside me, drink in hand, and loosened his necktie. “She's certainly a talkative little thing.”

“Did you learn anything interesting? Did she say anything about her sister and Mr. Harker?”

“She mentioned that they all spent a good deal of time together. There was a nightclub they enjoyed frequenting, the Sparrow, or some such ridiculous name.”

I tucked that bit of information away for possible use in the future.

“Don't get any ideas, Amory,” he said warningly, reading my thoughts with frustrating accuracy.

I ignored him. “Do you think she was in love with Mr. Harker?”

“Hardly. I imagine she and her sister found Mr. Harker something of an easy target.”

“Using him for his money, you mean?”

“That would be my guess.”

I wondered about Mr. Harker's financial situation. I hadn't even considered that possibility before now. “Was he well off, do you suppose?”

“Comfortably, I assume. His father was Mrs. Barrington's brother. The family is well off, I should say, though not exactly rolling in money.”

I considered that for a moment. James Harker seemed the sort of sweet, vague young man who might be easily taken advantage of by a woman of the world. Might his money have had something to do with his death?

“What else did you learn?” I asked.

“Nothing much else tonight, but I telephoned Frederick Garmond and asked him about Vivian Garmond. Her deceased husband was only a distant cousin, but Garmond said the cousin went abroad a few years ago and died. Shortly after, Mrs. Garmond came home with a baby and the somewhat dubious account of their marriage. The family's accepted it, but it's commonly assumed that Dunmore got her pregnant and refused to marry her.”

Milo's information was as I had suspected, then. That was much the same thing that Mrs. Roland had told me. I felt somewhat smug that Milo had not learned anything new.

“It's possible that James Harker knew something she wanted kept quiet,” I said. “That seems unlikely, but I suppose we can't discount it. Winnelda also has it through her own little jungle telegraph that Mrs. Garmond has been having financial difficulties. It may be that she was desperate enough to steal the jewelry and Mr. Harker's death was an unfortunate by-product.”

“That could be. However, her questionable widowhood was not the extent of his information. Garmond had something rather interesting to say about the Barringtons as well.”

I looked at him, surprised. “What did he say?”

“To begin with, things aren't going as well as their lifestyle seems to indicate. Mr. Barrington had several investments that went awry.”

“You mean they're not as wealthy as they seem to be?”

“That is exactly what I mean. Until very recently, Mr. Barrington had been losing money hand over fist. I understand things have been improving, but it will be difficult for him to recoup his losses, and things remain somewhat precarious.”

I thought back to the night of the dinner party. Mrs. Barrington had mentioned taking a flat for convenience. Perhaps she had said it so that it wouldn't come as a surprise if they were forced to sell their house.

I considered the possible implications of this news. “Do you think she might have been selling her jewels and only claiming that they had gone missing?”

“It's possible, I suppose. What better way to acquire some much-needed funds than by selling off the jewelry? It could have been done inconspicuously.”

“It would have been strange for her to ask for my help in locating them if she had taken them herself. Unless…”

“She was planning a murder,” Milo and I said at the same time.

I smiled at him. In moments like this, when there was harmony between us, it was so very easy to talk to him. I wished it could always be that way. He must have noticed the wistful look on my face, for his expression grew more serious. “What is it?”

I shook my head, unwilling to unburden myself just now. “Nothing. Was there anything else you learned?”

He was still watching me, and I knew that he could tell that there was something more on my mind. He decided against pressing me, however, and let the subject drop for the time being.

“Yes, in fact. Not only are the Barringtons not as financially secure as they once were, I gather there was no love lost between Mr. Barrington and James Harker.”

Mrs. Roland had mentioned as much, but I still found it surprising. “I thought the Barringtons were very fond of him.”

“His aunt is, perhaps, but I was given to believe that Mr. Barrington was less than pleased with his nephew's contribution to the family financial situation. And, as you have heard, James Harker had the charming habit of putting his foot in his mouth.”

“That seems to be the general consensus. Were there any particular instances of note?”

“I gather Mr. Harker let slip at a dinner party that the family coffers were dwindling. Mr. Barrington was attempting to arrange some sort of business transaction with a gentleman who was present, but the deal later fell through. No doubt Mr. Barrington attributed this to Mr. Harker's careless talk.”

“Mr. Garmond told you all of this?”

“Not all of it. I had an interesting conversation or two at my club. Mr. Barrington is an amiable and well-liked gentleman, but that doesn't mean people aren't willing to share bad tidings. People enjoy spreading word of misfortune much more than they do good news.”

I was strangely glad that he had taken the trouble to glean what information he could from the members of his club. He had done it because he knew that it would please me.

“Who do you suppose inherits Mr. Harker's money?” I asked.

A glint showed in Milo's eyes. “That would be interesting to know, wouldn't it?”

Interesting indeed. Mr. Harker had been unmarried. It was entirely possible that his money would go to his nearest relations. I wondered cynically if Mr. and Mrs. Barrington might fall under this category.

Milo seemed to be considering this as well. “If Mrs. Barrington was planning a murder, it would have been strange of her to call attention to it. Unless she was attempting to throw us off the scent. That seems unlikely, however. She doesn't seem as though she would be inclined to create an elaborate setting for a crime she planned to commit.”