Murder at Rough Point (19 page)

“Then I am to be a consultant of sorts.”

“Exactly.”

She brightened considerably and sat up straighter. “And if we can prove that none of us is guilty . . .”

“I will be as overjoyed as you. But that won't mean we are in any less danger.”

I
t was decided we would not change for dinner that evening. In fact, the group almost forewent dinner altogether. With two men discovered missing, and then deceased, after failing to turn up in the dining room, a kind of superstition concerning the evening meal had settled over the group. Mrs. Wharton and my mother managed to convince the others of the uselessness of going hungry. The compromise involved staying together in the public rooms of the house until it was time to retire, whereupon each room would be searched, declared safe, and locked by its occupant from the inside. We also kept our bedroom doors locked when we were elsewhere.

However, that didn't stop me from running upstairs when my father discovered he had left his cigarette case in the upper salon. The task provided an opportunity, and I hastened to say I would retrieve it for him.

I found it where he said he had left it, on the side table next to the sofa. I flipped the case open to discover it about three-quarters full. Would he notice one missing? If so, he might merely believe one of his friends had helped themselves. I detoured into my bedroom and stashed the cigarette in my dressing table. Later I would compare it, if possible, to the stub I had found outside.

I didn't know why I hadn't thought of this sooner, but would I be able to steal one from each of Rough Point's guests who indulged in tobacco? And would a comparison to the soggy specimen I found yield any significant results? It was worth a try, no matter how unlikely.

With Father's cigarette case in hand I left the servants' wing and stepped back into the main corridor. Voices from below blended to a dull murmur, but a sudden and much closer click echoed loudly in the stillness. I froze in place when perhaps I should have immediately fled down the stairs, except that the noise had seemed to come from my aunt's bedroom, presently being used by the Whartons, directly opposite the landing.

I hadn't heard anyone coming up the stairs. With everyone still below, then, who could be in the Whartons' suite? A jiggle followed another click, and then the knob turned. My heart reached up and squeezed my throat, and simultaneously I measured the distance both to the main stairs and those at the far end of the servants' wing. Which way to run?

The door opened and a scream rose up inside me, ready to burst forth. It never did. The tall young man who shouldered his way out of the room with a circle of keys dangling in his hand nodded in recognition and deference.

“Good evening, Miss Cross, may I do anything for you?”

I pressed my hand to my bosom and spoke breathlessly. “Carl, you gave me a fright.”

“I'm very sorry about that, miss. I didn't think anyone would be up here now. I was told no one would come up until later.”

That gave me an uneasy feeling and made me study him more closely. “Just what are you doing up here? Why were you in the Whartons' suite?”

If he took offense at my obvious suspicion, he showed no outward sign. “Mr. Dunn sent me up to test all the locks, and to mark each key according to room.” I noticed then he also carried what appeared to be an old quill sharpener. He held it up. “You see, I'm putting notches in the shaft of each key so we can easily tell them apart. With everyone locking their doors constantly, we don't want anyone to become accidentally locked out. Or in, for that matter. But not to worry, Miss Cross, these keys will be kept in the safe in the butler's pantry and only removed if absolutely necessary. And only Mr. Dunn has the combination.”

“A good precaution.” I continued my scrutiny. He seemed thoroughly at ease and unperturbed by my presence. “I hope the staff is taking safety precautions as well.”

“We are indeed, Miss Cross.” He paused, though he obviously wished to say more.

“Yes, Carl?”

“Do you really think those men were murdered? It is possible, isn't it, that both deaths were an accident? I mean, the baronet was unfamiliar with our cliffs, and maybe the French gentleman fell asleep.”

“Maybe, Carl. I wish it were so. Better these were accidents than crimes. But still, it's awfully coincidental.” I didn't add that I no longer believed in coincidences.

“I suppose. Well, if you'll excuse me, I should get back to testing the locks.”

He moved on, but I remained where I was, staring at his back until he disappeared from view at the other end of the gallery. I had wanted to ask him who decided Mr. Dunn would be trusted with the master keys, but the answer was obvious. As estate manager, Mr. Dunn was not only the senior staff member, but my uncle's most trusted employee. I certainly had no reason to mistrust him. . . .

That conversation we had days ago, when he had termed us two of a kind and suggested we should “stick together,” ran through my mind. I had taken offense and he had been quick to explain his meaning, which should have mollified me. Except that it hadn't. Something about the man continued to bother me, though his behavior had been impeccable ever since. And as I had pointed out to Mrs. Wharton, none of the staff had previously known the guests, or had any reason to harm them.

Perhaps my aversion to Mr. Dunn stemmed from nothing more sinister than his pencil mustache. Were I the man's wife or mother or even his sister, I would have insisted he grow it thicker or shave it off.

* * *

I managed to pilfer a cigarette from Niccolo Lionetti's case after dinner. When I compared this, and the one from my father's case, with the remnant I'd found outside, the results were thoroughly inconclusive. The rain had robbed the tiny stub of most of its odor, so that I couldn't discern if it was ordinary tobacco or one of the flavored varieties the group sometimes smoked. Nor did the outer wrapping appear much different from the other two. It didn't look as though my find would yield any more insight than that someone had walked the length of the garden and tossed the end of his or her cigarette into the grass. I returned the stub to the tea tin and prepared for bed.

Hours into a restless night, a sound shivered its way through the house. Though far off and muted through the walls, Patch's mournful wails had me sitting upright immediately. He had been left to roam downstairs, and now he frantically fulfilled his duty as guard dog. At the same time I noticed the storm hadn't abated, but continued to lash my windows.

With little forethought I hopped out of bed and unlocked my bedroom door. Through the gap I created I heard my parents' door opening, and spied my father stepping out, a fire poker in hand.

“What the devil is that dog going on about?” He had dressed hastily in trousers and a shirt he hadn't bothered to tuck in.

Mother crept out behind him. “What is it, Arthur? Dear heavens, has someone broken in?”

I opened my door wider. From the main corridor we heard the Whartons' voices, and then those of Niccolo and Miss Marcus.

“Where is Vasili?” I heard Mrs. Wharton ask.

Below, Patch's howling became strained and hoarse. A crash interrupted, startling my poor dog into silence. He quickly took up the alarm again. I followed my parents to the top of the main stairs.

“What do we do?” The whites of Niccolo's eyes glowed with fear. He, too, had improvised a weapon on his way out of his room in the form of a silver ewer, which he clutched in one hand like a pistol. Teddy Wharton noticed it and about-faced into the bedroom he shared with his wife. He returned seconds later wielding a spiked candlestick in trembling hands.

Miss Marcus backed away from the landing. “You can't mean to go down there.”

“You women wait up here,” Father ordered, and started down. The other men allowed him several stairs' head start before trading glances and following. When Father paused in the eerie glow of the half landing, the others froze where they were. “Mr. Dunn,” he called out. “Are you down there?”

I stood on the top step and leaned over to see into the hall below. The lamp in the alcove went on, a sudden burst of light that sent spots dancing before my eyes. A figure moved to the base of the steps.

“It's me, Carl, Mr. Cross. Mr. Dunn is on his way.”

“What in hell is taking him so long?” Teddy Wharton muttered. “And what's got that damn dog so riled up?”

“Teddy,” Mrs. Wharton said with a caution in her voice, but she said nothing else. Carl spoke again.

“I only just came up from my room below. I haven't found Miss Cross's dog yet, but it sounds as though he's in the north wing.”

“The drawing room?” Father continued down, trailed by the other two men. Vasili still hadn't appeared, and a sense of dread spread through me.

“Father, be careful, please.” Before I could say more Mr. Dunn emerged from the dining room in his dressing gown. From his hand dangled a cast iron frying pan. Father and Niccolo flanked him, with Mr. Wharton and Carl right behind them, and together, armed with fire poker, ewer, candlestick, and frying pan, they moved as a small force through the Great Hall.

Patch let out a cry so sorrowful I couldn't stop myself from scurrying down the steps. Had someone harmed my dog? Regret at having agreed to let him guard the downstairs rose up and prompted me to ignore my mother's plea.

“Emma, come back here. It's not safe.”

When I reached the bottom I realized I was not alone, for Mrs. Wharton had followed me down. She stilled me with a hand on my shoulder. “Don't go off blindly, Miss Cross, or you might make matters worse.”

“But Patch . . . and Vasili. Where is he?” I turned my face up to my mother and Miss Marcus, hovering at the top of the stairs. “Bang on Vasili's door, go in if you have to. But see if he's safe.”

Mother turned and hurried away while Miss Marcus stood on the top step with her back pressed to the wall and her arms tight around her. Mother's voice rang out from across the gallery.

“Vasili, are you there? Vasili!” Sharp rapping at his door became a pounding of fists. “Vasili!”

“Go in,” I shouted up at her.

Moments later she reappeared at the top of the stairs, her loose hair falling around her shoulders. “He's not there.” She looked over her shoulder at Miss Marcus before grasping the banister and starting down. Only when she'd begun the descent from the half landing did Miss Marcus seem to awaken from her stupor.

“I'm not staying up here alone.” With her colorful robe sweeping like a ball gown behind her, she rushed down to join us. “The men told us to stay put,” she reminded us when she reached the Stair Hall, but none of us, Miss Marcus included, showed any inclination to go back upstairs.

“I don't hear him,” I said as a fresh wave of anxiety struck me. In the preceding moments, Patch had fallen silent but I only now realized it. Replacing his barking came the shouts of the men calling Vasili's name. I grasped both my mother's and Mrs. Wharton's hands and set us all running through the Great Hall into the drawing room. Miss Marcus's slippers pattered behind us.

In the drawing room we were engulfed in blasts of damp wind blowing in through the open French doors. A lamp had been switched on, the light spilling a few feet into the covered portion of the veranda where Teddy Wharton crouched beside Patch, an arm securely hooked around the dog. The others were nowhere to be seen, but farther out on the lawn their voices competed with the slanting rain and battering gusts. Their makeshift weapons littered the wrought iron garden table.

“What's happening?” I called out to Mr. Wharton. My mother slipped an arm around my waist, partly in comfort and partly, I guessed, to prevent me from hastening outside. “Is Patch all right?”

I needn't have asked. At the sound of my voice Patch slid his wet body from beneath Mr. Wharton's hold. He stopped just before reaching the threshold and gave a vigorous shake, spraying a cascade of droplets into the air. Then he continued to me, practically throwing himself into my arms as I sank to the floor.

“What happened out there, boy?” The desire to answer me shone in his glistening eyes. His weight sagging against me, he trembled from wet and cold and yes, fear or whatever it is a dog feels when he knows all is not right. “There's a good boy, don't worry now.”

Even as I spoke the soothing words I strained to see out into the darkness and rain. “Mr. Wharton, what is happening?” I repeated. Not knowing was maddening.

Mrs. Wharton stepped past me and went to her husband's side. She said something I couldn't hear, and Teddy pressed to his feet and pointed to somewhere beyond the veranda. The cliffs again? My stomach sickened at the thought of the precipice having taken another life.

“Vasili's out there,” Mrs. Wharton called back to us, at the same time Irene and Mrs. Harris entered the drawing room carrying piles of towels. They'd secured their dressing gowns beneath their chins and each had tied a shawl around her shoulders.

The cook dropped her burden on a nearby chair and stooped to wrap a towel around Patch. “Poor dear. Always watching out for everyone, isn't he?”

“Do you know what's happening here?” I asked her.

“No, miss, but Irene and I heard the commotion outside and figured people would need drying off.”

“And you weren't afraid to come?” Miss Marcus demanded in a harsh tone. “Fools, how could you know if it were safe or not? There could have been a madman loose in the house intent on killing everyone.”

“It's all right, Josephine.” Mother attempted to draw Miss Marcus to her side but the opera singer shirked away.

“
You're
all here, aren't you?” the cook asked calmly. “Irene and I aren't about to cower in our rooms if Mr. Vanderbilt's guests need our services. Are we, Irene?”