Rules of Murder (3 page)

“Well, come on then.” Drew took Madeline’s arm and turned her toward the table. “Lunch is getting cold, and your friends have too long been spared the pleasure of meeting young Mr. Dennison.”

“Jolly nice to have some new girls about for the festivities and all.” Nick shifted his plate to his left hand and used his right to smooth back his hair. “Oh, I say, Miss Parker, do either of your friends read mysteries?”

Madeline laughed. “Only
Silver Screen
.”

The party that evening was lavish and suitably chic. Suave gentlemen in dinner jackets and black ties went to dinner in the company of elegant ladies dressed in diaphanous gowns cut to show off daring backs and bold décolletage. After the sumptuous meal came an offering of drinks and dancing in the ballroom, which evidently had once been a medieval great hall. This was to be followed by an extravagant display of fireworks on the front lawn. Although Madeline had attended a great many society functions since her debut four years before, some of them staggeringly gaudy in their ostentatiousness, none of them had been as opulent and grand as this. It would be the perfect evening if Drew weren’t so busy with all the other guests and if she could escape the attentions of that odious David Lincoln.

He had introduced himself to her, bold, almost smug, and now, for the second time this evening, he held her crushed against him. She would be glad when this dance came at last to an end. He reeked of liquor and stale cigarette smoke, and
his way of holding her too close and sliding his hand with just a shade too much familiarity down her bare back made her wish she had been more modest in her choice of evening gowns. Maybe Muriel was right and she was more of an organdy girl after all.

She glanced around for a means of escape and saw Drew in the middle of the room with none other than Muriel herself clinging to his arm, looking up into his face with guileless blue eyes, no doubt cooing over what a big, strong man he was. He was looking uncomfortable, obviously planning his own escape, and Madeline couldn’t help a silent giggle.

“What is it, Miss Parker?” Lincoln asked, holding her even closer.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. Really, it’s nothing. Just, um—” She glanced up at him and then away. “I’m getting a little warm with everyone packed in like this. Do you think you could get me something to drink?”

“Of course,” he said, his smile suave and insinuating. “If I’m going to leave a lady breathless, I’d rather it be when we’re alone.”

He left her with a bow at the far end of the room. Once his back was to her, she slipped into the hallway.

“As if I’d ever be alone with you.”

She looked around, trying to gain her bearings. This wasn’t one of the grand hallways leading to the other wings of the house. It was just a small one, still paneled in rich mahogany and floored with plush carpet, still grand in everything but scale. Surely there was some little out-of-the-way place she could find here, a library or a sitting room maybe, until Lincoln was otherwise occupied.

She tried the first door she came to and found it locked. Probably a broom closet or storage room of some sort. The next led
to an austere passageway that looked as if it might end up in the kitchens. She might have to come back to that one if she didn’t find anything more promising farther on. Finally she pushed open the door at the very end.

“Madeline, dear, do come in.”

“Uncle Mason!”

Madeline found herself in a small study with a lovely vaulted ceiling and arched windows. Her uncle sat behind an untidy old desk ornamented with intricate carvings and stacked with ledger books and a jumble of papers weighted with an ivory-handled letter opener with a gleaming blade. In the overstuffed chair across from him sat a grandfatherly looking man in expensive but rumpled eveningwear. Both men stood to greet her.

“Come in, come in,” Mason repeated, smiling. “Shut the door or we shall never be able to hear ourselves over the music.”

Madeline did as he asked and then drew a startled breath to realize a third man was standing with his back to her, searching through a book that lay open on a side table.

“Mr. Lincoln, I—”

The man turned to face her. He wasn’t Lincoln after all.

“I beg your pardon,” Madeline stammered, one hand over her heart, “but I thought—”

The two older men laughed between themselves.

“Come here, my dear, and let me introduce you,” Mason said, and then he nodded toward the older man across the desk from him. “This is Mr. Rushford, one of my business partners. Mr. Rushford, my niece, Madeline.”

Mr. Rushford squinted as if his glasses were not strong enough to give him a very clear look at her, but his expression was kind. “How do you do, Miss Parker?”

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Rushford. I
am
sorry to have interrupted your business meeting.”

“Not at all. Not at all. Such a lovely interruption is more than welcome.”

“And,” Mason continued, “this is my new secretary, Merton Clarke.”

The secretary, the man she had mistaken for Lincoln, closed the book he was looking through and made a slight bow. “Good evening, miss.”

She managed a smile. “Forgive me for staring, Mr. Clarke, but from the back you looked so much like—”

Her uncle nudged his partner. “I told you as much.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Rushford squinted at the secretary. “I suppose there’s a bit of a resemblance. What’s it matter anyway? The man’s competent, isn’t he? So long as Lincoln didn’t recommend him just for one of his pranks, what’s it matter?”

“Having a good time tonight, my dear?” Mason asked. “You seemed quite popular with the young gentlemen on the dance floor.”

“Maybe a little too popular,” Madeline said with a rueful laugh.

“Ah, so that’s why you ducked in here. And who is it you’re running from? Anyone I know? I’ll have a word with him, of course.”

Madeline squeezed his arm, grateful for his kindness. “Now, nothing so serious as that. I just thought I’d take a minute and see some of the rest of the house.” A green marble clock, French by its look, ticked on the carved stone mantel. She couldn’t help touching one finger to the figure that ornamented it: a lounging bronze lute player in the dress of an Elizabethan Romeo. “Everything is so beautiful.”

“You stay with us as long as you like, Miss Parker,” Rushford told her. “So long as you don’t mind the company of a couple of crusty old badgers and one industrious little mole.”

The others laughed, but Clarke merely blinked his pale eyes and did not protest the description. In evening dress and with his blond hair oiled and slicked back as it was, it was easy to see why, from behind, she had thought he was Lincoln. But his pasty complexion and almost nonexistent chin, oddly dimpled on one side, immediately put an end to the likeness. His stylishly thin mustache did little to improve things and only somewhat concealed the scar over his upper lip.

Madeline gave him her prettiest smile. “I understand you’re leaving for Canada. Won’t you tell me what you’re working on, Mr. Clarke?”

His pale face turned pink, and he stammered something about pumping stations and pressure gauges until his commentary was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before anyone could respond, the door opened and Drew Farthering popped his head into the room.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Parker. We’ve been wondering where you’d gone off to.”

Seeing him, Madeline felt her own face flush with pleasure. “Uncle Mason and his friends have been telling me about Farlinford Processing and the new system they’re working on.”

Drew put one gloved hand dramatically over his heart. “Good thing I’ve come to rescue you just in time.” He nodded to the gentlemen in the room. “Good evening, sir. And to you, Mr. Rushford. And I don’t believe we’ve met.”

He offered his hand to the third man, who shook it briefly.

“Mr. Clarke is my new secretary,” Mason explained. “Clarke, this is my stepson, Mr. Farthering.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Drew said, and then he turned to Mason once more. “But what happened to old Vickers? He’s been with you just ages.”

“Vickers suddenly decided to retire, so I’ve taken on Clarke. He’s off to Edmonton, by the way, to see to some things there for me. I haven’t told them he’s coming.” Mason winked. “See you manage a bit of work now and again, Clarke, when you’re not fly-fishing.”

“Only on the weekends, to be sure,” Clarke told him, turning a bit pink.

“Ah. Well, best of luck to you, Clarke,” Drew said. “Mind you keep your hand out of the till.”

The other men chuckled, and the secretary’s face went from pink to scarlet. “See here, Mr. Farthering, I would never—”

“Now, now, hold steady there, Clarke,” Drew soothed. “Don’t you mind me. Miss Parker will tell you I never say anything meant to be taken seriously.” He gave Madeline a sly grin. “And she doubtless keeps a catalog of my faults close at hand lest any of them be forgotten.”

“Oh, no,” Madeline replied, all wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t see any reason to keep a personal record of anything so well-documented and widely known.”

“And that, Miss Parker, is why you’re so desperately needed at the party.” Drew tucked her arm under his. “Do you know, some of our guests, most notably your Miss Brower, are actually starting to believe I’m a charming fellow.”

“No!”

“Yes!” Drew assured her, his face all earnest concern. “It’s an absolute scandal, and there’s no one but you to disabuse them of the notion. Now come along. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

M
other, this is Miss Madeline Parker, your niece.”

Drew presented Madeline to a stylish work of cosmetic art with chignon of platinum blond hair nearly as brilliant as the diamonds at her wrists and throat, a dazzling bird of paradise in black silk with plumes of electric blue.

“How are you, my dear?” Constance said, kissing the air somewhere near Madeline’s cheek. “Mason’s talked of nothing else since you wrote you were coming. Are you having a pleasant time?”

“Everything’s wonderful,” Madeline said. “And it’s so nice to finally get to meet you. I’d love to—”

“You must come and have a chat with me tomorrow afternoon,” Constance said, but Madeline could tell she was distracted, searching for someone in the crowd.

Drew cleared his throat. “Mother, Miss Parker—”

“Go get me a stinger, pet.”

“But, Mother—”

“Shoo, shoo, shoo,” she said, waving him away, “and tell Nelson to be sparing with the crème de menthe.”

Drew made a dutiful bow. “Yes, Mother. Pardon me, Miss Parker.”

Once he had gone, Constance grabbed Madeline’s arm. “I saw you dancing with him.”

“What?”

“I saw you dancing with him. David Lincoln.” Constance’s eyes were hard, a little frantic. “You’ll stay away from him if you’re a smart girl.”

“Y-yes,” Madeline stammered. “Of course. I wouldn’t—”

“And then of course there’s Mrs. Bennington’s for hats,” Constance said as Uncle Mason came up to them.

“Ah, I’m glad to see the two of you have met.” He kissed Constance’s cheek. “Would you care to dance, my dear?”

Constance’s mouth tightened, but she managed a smile. “Not just now, Mason. I met the child only this very moment.”

Mason chuckled. “And you were discussing hats. I should have known to keep my distance. Ah, there’s Drew. Better warn him off.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m sure our dear Madeline will come talk to me later if she wants to know more, though I’ll trust she’ll rely on my advice.” Constance’s smile turned even more brittle. “About hats.”

“Your drink,” Drew said as he came up to them, and he handed Constance a milky beverage in a crystal glass. “Now, Mother, as I was saying, Miss Parker—”

“Oh, no, Ellison.” Constance shook her head. “I really can’t hear to talk over this music, and my head’s a positive torture. I think Madeline and I have a lovely understanding for the moment. You really should take her round to meet some of the other young people.”

“Sorry about that,” Drew said when they got to the other side of the room. “Nights like this, Mother’s always got something going on.”

Madeline smiled. “Yes, it seems she does.”

They watched Nick in flawless evening dress and Carrie in her stylish ice-blue gown whirl by on the dance floor.

Drew made a slight bow. “I think it time, Miss Parker, that you honored me with a dance or joined me in a Bucks Fizz.”

Madeline smiled again. “A Bucks Fizz?”

“My girl! You cannot tell me you’ve never tasted a really fine Bucks Fizz! I believe they call it a mimosa in the States. Champagne and orange juice.”

Madeline looked up at him, keeping her expression playful. “You realize that stuff is illegal at home, don’t you?”

“I have heard mention of such things,” Drew said, his tone very wise and knowing. “Do you think they’ll send a policeman round to take you away?”

“I’ll trust you to protect me.”

“Does that mean you’ll try one?”

“All right, but just a taste,” Madeline said. “I’m not much of a drinker really.”

Drew beamed at her. “Neither am I, to say truth. No use putting on a grand show like this and then not remembering it the next day, eh? All right now, just a taste of Bucks Fizz coming up.”

Madeline smiled as he disappeared into the crowd, and then spent a moment watching Carrie and Nick still dancing, admiring the soft cloud of red fire that crowned Carrie’s lovely head, set off to perfection by the ice blue of her dress.

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

Madeline turned to see David Lincoln standing close beside her, something dangerous in the smile on his face and the touch of sarcasm in his voice. She took a step away from him and found her bare back against the paneled wall.

“Since you obviously didn’t care to dance with me again,” he said, “I thought I’d bring your drink here.”

“That was very nice of you, Mr. Lincoln, but I really never drink much.”

“I thought that might be the case with a violet like you,” he said, his mouth curling up on one side, “so I brought you some water. Just to help you cool off.”

Her mouth did feel dry all of a sudden, so she accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps I’m not such a bad fellow after all.”

“I never said you were.”

“Perhaps you didn’t need to say it.” He moved closer to her, bracing one hand against the wall behind her, putting his well-built frame between her and the rest of the crowd. “There’s no reason we couldn’t be good friends, is there, Madeline? If something were to happen to me, you’d be sorry you weren’t a little nicer, wouldn’t you?”

She had no room to back away, so she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I’ve been told, Mr. Lincoln, that a gentleman does not call a lady by her Christian name unless he has asked for and been granted that privilege.”

His face was a little flushed, whether from drink or anger she did not know, but he managed still to smile. Then he braced his other hand against the wall, trapping her there between his muscular arms.

“Perhaps if you got to know me better, Madeline, there would be a number of privileges you’d grant me.”

“Ah! I see you’ve met Miss Parker from America.”

Drew set down the drinks he had brought with him and grasped Lincoln’s hand, ostensibly in greeting, turning Lincoln away from her. Madeline breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see him and glad to see Nick and Carrie had finished their dance.

“You must come and meet some of our other guests, as well,” Drew continued. “I don’t believe you were ever properly
introduced to Nick Dennison here, what with all the confusion last night.”

“How do you do?” Nick also shook Lincoln’s hand, turning him even further from Madeline. “Grand bash this, isn’t it? I hope Dad got you nicely settled into your new room.”

Lincoln’s heavy brows came together. “Dad?”

“Yes, Dad,” Nick said sunnily. “I’m sure you remember him, rather stodgy-looking older gentleman, very proper, very Victorian and that. Took your coat at the door, showed you into the drawing room when you arrived, moved your things for you when you changed rooms.”

“Dennison?”

“Precisely. John Hanover Dennison, butler and proud father.”

“See here, Farthering,” Lincoln protested. “This man says his father is your butler!”

Drew shrugged. “Well, he would know, wouldn’t he?”

Madeline and Carrie giggled at the indignation on Lincoln’s face.

“You see,” Drew added as he picked up one of the glasses he had just brought, “Mr. Dennison is the son of a gentleman’s gentleman, which is much better, my dear Mr. Lincoln, than being, as you are, merely a son of a—” he took a slow sip of his Bucks Fizz—“gentleman.”

Nick choked back a chuckle.

“You
dare
allow him into a society party,” Lincoln sputtered, “knowing he’s of the working class?”

“Why, he’s not working now, are you, Nick, old man?”

Nick looked about for a moment and then shook his head in wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t seem to be now, guv,” he said, putting on a broad Cockney accent. “No, most definitely not.”

This time Madeline laughed aloud, and Lincoln stiffened.

“I’ll make sure everyone here knows about this.”

“My friends already know,” Drew told him, his expression cool. “And I haven’t a care what anyone else thinks.”

“Then I see
I
am the one out of place here,” Lincoln said with grave condescension.

“I would say you are,” Drew agreed. “And I would suggest you turn your attentions toward those who might welcome them.”

Lincoln sneered. “Quite right. Perhaps I
should
go spend some time with your mother.”

Drew’s gray eyes flashed, but before he could respond, Madeline draped her arm across Lincoln’s shoulders and smiled into his eyes, all demure innocence, still holding the drink he had brought her.

“Now, I think that’s a lovely idea, Mr. Lincoln. I believe Aunt Constance is right over there.”

She turned as she said it, indicating the place, and just happened to empty her glass down his immaculate shirtfront.

Lincoln’s outraged oath could be heard over the music.

“Merely a slight mishap,” Drew assured the startled onlookers as Lincoln stood there gasping.

Madeline put one hand over her mouth, covering a smile. “Oh dear, Mr. Lincoln! Now you see why I really shouldn’t drink.”

Nick took a dry serviette from the tray and stuffed it into the front of Lincoln’s sodden waistcoat. “I’d help you clean up, old man, but I wouldn’t want you to think I was working or anything.”

Puffed up like an angry cat, Lincoln stalked off.

“I hope he didn’t hurt your feelings, Mr. Dennison,” Madeline said once he had gone, but Nick only laughed in answer.

“Nonsense,” Drew assured her. “He’s been offending the upper classes for years now. It’s his favorite hobby.”

He smiled as he said it, but there was still discernible anger in his taut face as he watched Lincoln make his way through the dancers and straight to Constance. Constance took Lincoln’s
arm, said something urgent in his ear, and the two of them went out the side door.

Madeline slipped her arm through Drew’s. “I never did get to taste that Bucks Fizz.”

“Ah, well, we can’t have that, can we?” he said, and his smile was a little more genuine as he handed her a champagne flute filled with the bubbly orange beverage.

“Would you care to try one, Miss Holland?” Nick asked. “Or shall we have another dance?”

“I’ve never been one to turn down a dance,” Carrie said, and the two of them disappeared once again into the throng out on the floor.

“All right now, Miss Parker,” Drew said, raising his glass. “I would like to propose a toast to your lovely eyes, your fetching green frock, and your most subtle way of dealing with a cad.”

She laughed. “It’s not green. Not really.”

“No?”

“According to Madame Giselle, it’s
eau de nil
.”

“Ah, water of the Nile. Well, I’m certain Cleopatra herself could not have done it more credit.”

He touched his glass to hers and then waited as she took a sip.

“And?”

“It sort of spoils the taste of the juice, doesn’t it?” she said, handing the glass back to him.

He laughed heartily. “I expect it rather does. Well then, would you care for a dance?”

She listened for a moment, hearing the words in the smoky, mesmerizing tune: “Mad about the boy . . .” Perhaps this wasn’t the song to choose for a first dance with a man as attractive as Drew Farthering.

“Or shall we go out into the garden for a bit?” he asked. “We’re to have fireworks on the front lawn shortly, if you’d prefer that.”

“I’d love to get away from the crowd awhile. I’d better tell Carrie and Muriel where I’ll be.”

“Oh, they’re all right, aren’t they? Look. Nick’s looking after Miss Holland, and as for your Miss Brower . . .” He took a quick look around. “If she calls me Adorable Drew just once more—”

Madeline laughed. “Why don’t you show me the garden?”

They strolled out onto the back lawn. The windswept night was made for sweet talk and stolen kisses, and Drew realized he wasn’t immune to it. As they stood for a moment sheltered in the low-limbed wisteria, the music and the other guests seemed far away, not a part of their world at all.

“I love the smell of night,” he murmured, breathing in the fragrance of the wisteria blossoms.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, and seeing her standing there, nymphlike in her diaphanous eau-de-nil gown, he could only echo what she had said.

“Beautiful.”

She smiled and took his arm. “I was wondering, Mr. Farthering, if I could ask a favor of you?”

“Certainly,” he said, putting his free hand over hers as they began to walk. “If it is in my power.”

“I know we met just today, but we
are
family in a roundabout way.”

“Yes. I suppose we are.”

“Anyway, I was hoping you would start calling me Madeline.” There was sweet appeal in her half smile and in her periwinkle eyes. “If you don’t think that’s too brazen of me.”

“Not at all. Not at all. And I’ll expect you to call me Drew, as well.”

She laughed all of a sudden. “That was partly why I poured
my drink down Mr. Lincoln’s front. He was being awfully familiar and pushy, calling me Madeline when I had hardly had three words with him and hoped to never have three more.”

“I hope you and I shall have a great many words,” he told her. “And dancing and dining and—”

With a thundering boom, a burst of white sparks illuminated the clouded sky.

“And fireworks!” she cried, throwing her hands up in joyous abandon, making him want to romp through the grass alongside her.