Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (2 page)

“I don’t need money, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, his back still to me.

Despite the tension of the situation, I laughed. “Still reading my mind.”

He turned, regarding me with a solemn expression. “It’s not so hard to read your mind, but your eyes are harder to read than they used to be.”

“Concealment comes with practice,” I replied.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” He walked back to the sofa and sat down.

When he spoke, his tone had returned to normal. “Have you seen anything of Emmeline these past years?”

I wondered briefly if he had decided not to ask me the favor, reverting instead to polite conversation. Emmeline was Gil’s sister. She was younger than me by three years and away at school in France during much of our acquaintance, but we had been friends. After my engagement to Gil had ended, however, Emmeline and I had drifted apart.

“Once or twice at London affairs,” I answered.

“Was she … do you remember the chap she was with?”

I cast my mind back to the last society dinner at which I had seen Emmeline Trent. There had been a young man, handsome and charming, if I recalled correctly. Something about my memory of him nagged at me, and I tried to recall what it was.

“I remember him,” I said. “His name was Rupert something or other.”

“Rupert Howe, yes. She plans to marry him.”

I said nothing. There was more to come; that much was certain.

“He’s not a good sort, Amory. I’m sure of it.”

“That may be, Gil,” I said gently. “But, after all, Emmeline is a grown woman.” Emmeline would be twenty-three now, older than I had been when I married.

“It’s not like that, Amory. It isn’t just that I don’t like the fellow. It’s that I don’t trust him. There’s something … I don’t know…” His voice trailed off, and he looked up at me. “Emmeline has always liked you, looked up to you. I thought that, perhaps…”

Was this why he had come? I had no influence on Emmeline. “If she won’t listen to you,” I said, “whatever makes you think she will care what I have to say?”

He paused, and I could see that he was formulating his words, planning out what he would say. Gil had always been like that, careful to think before speaking. “There’s a large party going down to the south coast, a little village outside Brighton, tomorrow. Emmeline and Rupert and several other people I’m sure you know. We’ll be staying at the Brightwell Hotel for a week. I came to ask you if you would go on the pretext of a holiday.”

I was surprised at the invitation. I had not seen Gil in five years, and suddenly here he was, asking me to take a trip to the seaside. “I still don’t understand. What can I do, Gil? Why come to me?”

“I … Amory,” his eyes came up to mine, the brown flecks darker than they had been. “I want you to accompany me … to appear to be
with
me. You understand?”

I did understand him, just as easily as I once had. I saw just what he meant. I was to go with him to the seaside, to give the impression that I had left Milo. That my marriage had been a mistake. Emmeline had seen the society columns, the reports of my husband gallivanting across Europe without me; she would believe it.

I suddenly comprehended that there would be good reason for me to talk to Emmeline, how I would have authority when Gil didn’t.

Gil had said he didn’t trust Rupert Howe. I knew he was right. I knew Gil had seen in Rupert the same thing that had caught my attention when I had met him.

Emmeline’s Rupert had reminded me of Milo.

My decision was almost immediate. “I should be delighted to come,” I said. “I should like to keep Emmeline from making a mistake, if I possibly can.”

Gil smiled warmly, relief washing across his features, and I found myself returning the smile. The prospect of a week at the seaside in the company of old friends was not an unappealing one, at that.

Of course, had I known the mayhem that awaited, I would have been more reluctant to offer my services.

2

GIL LEFT IMMEDIATELY
, declining my offer to stay even for lunch.

I walked him to the door, and there was an easy silence between us, the companionability of shared conspiracy.

He took my hand as we stepped out onto the drive and into the warm morning light. “If you don’t want to do this, you have only to say so. I have no right to ask anything of you, Amory. It’s just that I knew at once that you would understand.” He offered me a slightly unsteady smile as the past resurfaced. “And I seem to recall that you were always keen on a bit of adventure.”

I had been once. Gil had teased me for my sense of daring, my daydreams of great exploits. However, life so seldom became what we expected it to be; adventure had been very sparse these past few years.

“I am happy to do what I can, Gil. Truly.”

He brushed his thumb lightly over my hand. “What will you tell your husband?”

“I don’t know that I’ll tell him anything.” I smiled weakly. “He probably won’t notice I’m gone.”

Gil’s eyes flickered over my shoulder. “I’m not so certain of that.”

I didn’t turn around, but instead leaned to brush a kiss across his cheek. “Good-bye, Gil. I’ll see you soon.”

He released my hand as he turned toward his motorcar, a blue Crossley coupe. “Yes, soon.”

I watched his car as it drove down the long driveway; I didn’t turn around, even as I sensed Milo behind me.

“That was Gil Trent, wasn’t it?”

I turned then. Milo was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, his pose as casual as his tone had been. He was wearing riding clothes, a white shirt under a black jacket and fawn-colored trousers tucked into shining black boots. The picture of a country gentleman.

“Yes. It was.”

One dark brow moved upward, ever so slightly. “Well. Did you ask him to stay for lunch?”

“He didn’t care to.”

He tapped his riding crop against his leg. “Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to be here.”

“Yes, well, you do flit about, darling.”

We looked at one another for a moment. If Milo was waiting for more, he was going to be disappointed. I had no desire to satisfy his curiosity. Let him wonder what I was up to for once.

“Going riding?” I asked breezily, moving past him and into the shadowed entryway.

His voice followed me into the dimness. “Care to join me?”

The invitation stopped me, and I was instantly irritated with myself. I turned. The light behind him in the doorway turned him to shadow, but I could tell he was watching me.

I wanted to go, but I knew that it really mattered very little to Milo if I did or not.

He waited.

“All right,” I said at last, weakening. “I’ll just run up and change.”

“I’ll wait for you at the stables.”

I went up to my room, preoccupied by the morning’s strange turn of events. Fancy Gil Trent coming to see me, after all this time. There had been something a bit mysterious in his manner. I wondered if things were as straightforward as he had made them seem. Could there really be something so very wrong with Rupert Howe? I tried again to remember the young man but could recall only a fleeting impression of suave attractiveness. I hoped that Gil was merely playing the role of overprotective brother, but I knew that he was not inclined to exaggeration, nor would he have judged Rupert Howe harshly without good reason.

Good reason or not, I reflected, our intervention was likely a lost cause. I was not under any illusions that I would somehow be able to deter Emmeline from her course if she had truly determined to wed the man, but I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try.

However, if I was honest, I had to admit that I was partly compelled to accept Gil’s proposal for motives that were not entirely altruistic. The truth was that I was finding it more and more difficult to ignore that I was terribly unhappy. Perhaps I had not admitted it completely, even to myself, until today.

It was as if Milo’s homecoming, Gil’s arrival, or some combination of the two had ignited in me the sudden realization that my lifestyle had become dissatisfying. Though I stayed as busy as possible, there was only so much for which involvement in local charities could compensate. London had felt stifling these past few months, but I was still too young to have settled seamlessly into quiet country life. In short, I was unsure what I wanted. Perhaps aiding Gil would help alleviate my recent malaise and allow me the satisfaction of usefulness, however temporary it might be.

There was, of course, my reputation to be considered. I had agreed to accompany Gil with little thought to any possible consequences, social or otherwise. Now that I had time to reflect, I was perfectly aware of how it would look for me to accompany him to the seaside, no matter how many of our mutual acquaintances would be there. If I wasn’t careful, scandal could quite conceivably ensue. Yet I found suddenly that I didn’t really care. It was no one’s business but my own what I chose to do.

I had changed into my riding costume, ivory-colored trousers and a dark blue jacket, and I stopped before the full-length mirror, noticing the way that the trousers and well-cut jacket outlined my figure, how the color of the jacket seemed to breathe a bit of blue into my gray eyes. Milo had, in fact, bought these clothes for me. His taste was impeccable, if expensive, and the costume’s overall suitability to my shape and coloring were indicative of his affinity for detail when it came to the fairer sex.

I wondered what Milo would think of my little holiday, but I pushed the thought away. He did as he pleased. There was no reason why I should not do the same.

My mental reservations systematically overruled, I went downstairs to meet my husband for our morning ride.

I arrived at the stables as he was leading out his horse, Xerxes, a huge black Arabian with a notorious temper. Only Milo could ride him, and the horse seemed excited at the prospect of a jaunt with his master, stamping his feet and snorting as he walked into the sunshine.

I watched my husband as he spoke to the horse, patting its sleek neck, the glossy black mane the same color as Milo’s own coal-dark hair. There was a smile on Milo’s face, and it remained there when he saw me approaching. He was happy to be home again, if only so that he was near the stables. If Milo genuinely loved anything, he loved his horses.

Geoffrey, the groom, led my horse Paloma out of the stable behind them. She was a smooth chestnut with white forelegs and face, and she was as sweet as Xerxes was temperamental.

I patted her soft nose as I approached. “Hello, old girl. Ready for a ride?”

Milo turned to me. “Shall we?”

We mounted up and set off at a brisk trot.

I felt some of the tension of the morning slip away as we rode in comfortable silence. The weather was warm, with a soft breeze, and the sun beamed down, unhindered, save for the presence of the occasional fluffy white cloud. Really, the scene was almost idyllic.

Milo looked at me suddenly and flashed me a grin that I felt in my stomach. “I’ll race you to the rise.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s go, Paloma.” A slight nudge with my heels was all it took, and she was off, racing across the open field as though she had heard the opening shot at Epsom Downs.

Xerxes took no prodding, and we flew, side by side. It had been a long time since we had done this. The rise lay across this field, as the flat land gave way to a set of low wooded hills. By crossing the field and riding upward along a path that angled to the north and then westward like a horseshoe on its side, you came to an outcropping that looked out across the estate. Milo and I had shared many an evening on that rise in the very early days of our marriage. It had been at least a year since I had set foot there.

The race was a close one. Xerxes had brute strength, but Paloma was lithe and sure-footed. Xerxes outpaced us across the field, but the path upward allowed Paloma to overtake the lead, and by the time we reached the rise, I was a length or two ahead.

I reined in Paloma as I reached the giant oak, our finish line, just as Xerxes charged up behind us.

“I’ve won!” I cried. The exhilaration of it all hit me, and I laughed. Milo laughed, too, a sound both strange and familiar, like hearing a melody you once loved but had forgotten existed.

“You’ve won,” he conceded. “You and that blasted docile horse of yours.”

He dismounted in one fluid motion, tossing Xerxes’s lead across the low-hanging branch of a tree. He moved to my side and reached up to help me dismount.

His hands remained for a moment on my waist as my feet hit the ground, and we looked at one another. There was a momentary flicker of heat lingering between us, and the uncanny sensation that things were as they once were and that we still loved one another.

But, then, I was not sure that Milo had ever loved me at all.

I stepped past him, securing Paloma’s lead, and then began to walk up the slight incline to the tip of the rise. Below me, Thornecrest, the imposing country house and manicured grounds that had been Milo’s father’s sanctuary, spread out before us. It was a large, grand property, and Milo kept it up beautifully. The neglect he demonstrated as a husband did not carry over to his estate.

Milo walked up to stand beside me, not quite close enough to touch. Standing here, looking out across the land with my husband at my side, brought back memories of times here that I would rather have forgotten. No, that was a lie. I didn’t want to forget. But it hurt to remember.

I was not sure what had brought on this fit of melancholy, but I suspected it had something to do with Gil’s visit. Though I had tried to suppress such thoughts, I had remembered Gil more than once over the past few years and wondered what might have been.

“A lovely day for riding,” I said. It was true, but the words sounded flat, and it seemed they hung heavily in the air.

If Milo noticed the strange aloofness that had arisen between us, he gave no sign of it. “Yes, though the paths up the rise are a bit overgrown. I’ll speak to Nelson about it.”

I said nothing. For some reason, I could not seem to conjure my usual equanimity where Milo was concerned. We were usually so easy with one another; even the distance that had grown between us had developed into an artificial joviality. However, I felt there was something different about this moment, as though it was building to some climax of which I was unsure.