A Death in Devon Page 7

  Chapter 7

  When I arrived back at Endmere, a long, black car sat in the drive. Johnson was supervising the extraction of several pieces of luggage from the trunk—or boot, as the British called it.

  “Miss Martin, you’ve been walking,” he said with a faint tone of disapproval.

  “Of course,” I said merrily. “It’s such a lovely day, and I wanted to explore a bit. Plus Tippy needed some exercise.”

  Tippy shot me a glare, which was hard to do since his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth. He was surprisingly cute.

  “If you would leave the dog with me, I will ensure he is watered. Lady Fortescue has arrived, and everyone is having pre-luncheon cocktails in the drawing room.”

  Pre-lunch cocktails? It wasn’t even five o’clock! What sort of rabbit hole had I fallen down?

  I handed Tippy over to Johnson and dashed up the stairs to wash my hands, refresh my powder and lipstick, and pat my rather windblown hair into place. I figured my simple afternoon dress was good enough for lunch—though I did attach the brooch Jack had loaned me—and dashed back down.

  Outside the drawing room, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves before stepping inside. I immediately relaxed a bit as I saw that, in addition to Lord Chasterly, there was only Lady Antonia and one other woman.

  The newcomer was tall, angular, with bottle blonde hair cut into a rather severe bob that would have been more in place fifteen years ago, as would the Japanese style dress which hugged her form. Still, it all looked rather good on her.

  “Ah, Sugar!” Lord Chasterly boomed. “Come meet the other guests. Martini?”

  “Um, sure.” I took the proffered glass and sniffed at it gingerly. I swear it singed the ends of my nose hairs.

  “Ladies, this is Sugar Martin, friend of the family.”

  It was the first I’d heard of it, but I smiled and nodded as if Freddy and I had known each other for ages.

  “Sugar, this is the Countess of Netherford, but we mostly call her Lady Antonia.”

  “Call me Toni,” Lady Antonia said, pretending we hadn’t just met in the middle of the night. She gave me a vigorous shake and a knowing wink as if to say, “Play along, chum.”

  “And this,” Lord Chasterly turned to the blonde woman, “is Lady Fortescue.”

  As if not to be outdone by Toni, Lady Fortescue also gave me a hearty handshake and a booming, “Call me Lil.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” I said, retrieving my hand and hiding behind my Martini glass. Liquid courage was just what I needed, singed nose hairs or not.

  “The rest of the guests will arrive in time for supper,” Lord Chasterly answered my unspoken question. “In the meantime, we’ll do jolly well without them, shan’t we ladies?” His jovial smile, while given to all of us, was clearly meant for Toni.

  Lil gave the other woman a sour look before turning back to me. “Sugar. That’s an unusual name.” She said “unusual” as if she smelled fish that had just gone off.

  I smiled tightly, unsure how to answer. If I told her my name was Euphegenia, would she connect it with my aunt and thus realize I wasn’t an heiress at all? Instead, I said, “My father always called me Sugar.”

  She smiled tightly. “How... quaint.”

  I disliked her immediately and almost as strongly as I’d liked Toni. Whereas Toni was free-spirited, cheerful, and kind, Lil was uptight, arrogant, and—frankly—a bit of a pill.

  It was clear to me that while Lil was sweet on Lord Chasterly, good ole Freddy was far more interested in Toni. Meanwhile, Toni didn’t give a fig. She was more interested in her Martini and in regaling me with tales of her latest trip to Paris where she’d “swung by” after her months on the French Riviera.

  “It was divine, darling. You’d hardly know there’d been a war on. Well, alright, there’s a bit of a mess here and there,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t nearly as badly hit as London, and it’s still beautiful even if parts are in a bit of a shambles. The men are still delicious, and there are great deals to be had on designer clothing if you know where to go.”

  I smiled and nodded, again unsure of what to say. The only attack on the U.S. mainland during World War II was the bombing of Fort Stevens on the Oregon Coast in June of 1942. Despite the Japanese firing seventeen missiles at the fort, nobody was hurt, and the only real damage caused was the severing of a few telephone wires. Needless to say, it did cause everyone quite a scare and rolls of barbed wire were strung along the coast for the duration of the war. Fortunately, they were never needed.

  Meanwhile, entire European cities were smashed into oblivion by the Luftwaffe or the Royal Air Force, depending on which side they were on. Thousands of civilians had died. I didn’t feel I had the right to comment on what Paris or anywhere else looked like.

  “You’re from America,” Lil drawled. “Which part?”

  “Oregon,” I said.

  “Where’s that? Anywhere near Hollywood?” Lil asked.

  “About a thousand miles away,” I said rather dryly.

  Lil raised her brow but didn’t say anything. I got the distinct impression that in her mind, if it wasn’t Hollywood or New York, it didn’t exist. It was an attitude with which I was familiar.

  There was a great crash from the hall accompanied by furious barking and a shouted, “Tippy!”

  The next moment, Tippy strutted into the room—that was the only word for it—dragging his leash behind him. Nose in the air, he made a beeline for the hearth and heaved himself down with a gusty sigh.

  Penny arrived next, her neat uniform covered in mud and her ginger bun askew. A twig was caught in her curls, one stocking was torn at the knee, and she was panting like a freight train.

  “Oh, dear, what did he do?” I shot Tippy a glare.

  Tippy merely sniffed.

  “Sorry, my lord, my ladies,” Penny said between puffs. “But he got away from me.”

  “Did he break anything?” I asked, recalling the terrible crash.

  “No, miss. Just knocked over the silver tray Johnson uses to collect the post. Oh, and that brass vase with the lilies in it. But everything seems to have survived.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I personally didn’t have the funds to replace anything Tippy broke, and I doubted Mr. Woodward would be pleased if he had to pony up. He might decide to take it out of my wages.

  “Why don’t you run along, Penny,” Lord Chasterly said cheerfully. “Let Tippy take his nap by the fire. He isn’t bothering anyone.”

  “Of course, my lord. I’ll just get his leash.”

  Tippy eyed Penny with mistrust the entire time, but once the leash was free and she had disappeared out the door, he closed his eyes. In no time he was snoring away.

  Before we could return to our conversation, there was another hubbub in the hall and a young-ish man poked his nose in the door. “All here?”

  “Raymond!” Lord Chasterly all but shouted. “Come on in, old chap. Have a cocktail.”

  This, then, was Raymond of the indecipherable last name. He was very ordinary looking—average height, average build, average looks. He’d an impressive Roman nose and a prominent Adam’s apple. His hair was a dull mousy brown and seemed to be trying to vacate the vicinity of his face. Meanwhile, his eyebrows were trying to make up for it as they bushed out wildly in all directions like drunken caterpillars. His brown suit neither fit properly nor suited his coloring.

  Lord Chasterly handed him a cocktail and was about to make introductions when two more people entered the room. Whereas Raymond had been quiet and reticent, appearing out of place and awkward, these two swanned in like they owned the manor. They were about as opposite in looks from poor Raymond as one could imagine.

  It was like looking at two sides of a coin, male and female. They appeared to be in their early twenties. Both were blond and stunningly good looking with the sort of golden-tanned skin one only gets in places like California or Greece. Their eyes were identical cornflower blue with identical dark,
perfectly arched brows and thick, sweeping lashes. They were dressed in the height of fashion to show off athletic figures. Since they could only be brother and sister, I had to assume they were Simon and Mary Parlance.

  Mary greeted Lord Chasterly with a cheek kiss while he and Simon shook hands energetically. Once they’d been supplied with cocktails, Freddy made the introductions.

  I at last discovered that Raymond’s surname was Frain. Apparently, while he was a simple ”Mister,” Simon and Mary were “Honorables” as Penny had mentioned in her note (Although she’d spelled it with a “u” which I could only guess was a British spelling). Whatever that meant. I’d no idea how to address them properly. Fortunately, Mary rescued me by assuring me I was to call them by their given names.

  “We’re all among friends, here,” she said lightly, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Oh, Freddy, darling, these are marvelous! What do you call them?”

  “The Singapore Sling, love.” He’d swapped out the martinis for some fruity concoction. “Haven’t you had one before? I picked up the recipe years ago when I was visiting the Far East.”

  As the rest of the guests chatted among themselves, I took stock. It appeared we were only missing Alexander Malburn. I wondered how he’d fit into this motley crew. They all seemed so mismatched.

  Since Mr. Frain was standing by himself, I wandered over and gave him one of my award-winning smiles. Not that I’d ever won an award, mind you, but my mother has always said I have a very nice smile, and I always could wrap my father around my little finger if I gave him my most winsome one.

  “You’re Mr. Frain, right?” I said, simply to strike up conversation.

  “Er, quite. But you can call me Raymond.” He took a huge gulp of his drink as if those few words had drained him and he needed to refortify himself.

  “And I’m Sugar.”

  “Interesting name,” he all but muttered, his ears going crimson.

  I figured he must be incredibly shy. “What is it you do, Raymond?”

  That startled a laugh out of him. “That’s a bit cheeky of you.”

  “Oh, sorry, did I faux pas?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. Why had Mr. Woodward thought sending me was a good idea? I was sure to stick my foot in it more than once.

  “Well, usually among these sorts of people,” he waved a hand to indicate the rest of the guests, “one doesn’t talk about how one makes money. It’s considered common.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear. I’m afraid it’s quite a normal thing in the U.S. to speak about what one does for a living.”

  “Is it?” That piqued his interest.

  “Yes. You see, one’s chosen field can say a lot about one’s interests,” I said. “Or not. I admit I was a much better welder than secretary.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  Oh, damnation. I was supposed to be an heiress! “Oh, I don’t want to bother you with the boring details.”

  “Never,” he assured me. “You see, to answer your question, I’m a writer. So I find people’s stories to be most interesting.”

  A writer? Amongst Freddy’s fancy friends? How astonishing! “Oh, well, if that’s the case... during the war, I worked at the shipyards in Portland. That’s my hometown. The men were all off to fight, but somebody had to build ships for the Navy, so they hired us women. Asked what we were interested in. Seemed I had a knack for welding. I’d have stayed on after the war was over, but the boys came home and, well, they needed jobs. Didn’t matter that I was a better welder than any of them.”

  “So you became a secretary instead?”

  “Oh, yes. A more acceptable job for a woman.” There may have been some sarcasm in my tone. “But I was terrible at it. I’m a very slow typist, I can’t do shorthand to save my life, and I kept accidentally hanging up on people when I tried to transfer calls to my boss.”

  He chuckled. “It sounds like secretarial positions are not your calling.”

  “No indeed,” I agreed whole heartedly. “The worst was my last position. I worked for a toy company.”

  “How interesting.”

  “You’d think,” I said dryly. “But I worked with a lot of men who were, to put it bluntly, not terribly bright and kind of boorish. One pinched my bottom.” I winced, Unsure why I’d told him that.

  His eyes widened. “What did you do?”

  I shrugged. “I slugged him in the kisser. Needless to say, I was promptly unemployed.”

  He let out a surprisingly hearty guffaw. “Well, it served the man right. Too bad you had to pay for it. What do you do now?”

  I froze a moment before letting out a tittering laugh. “Why, I’m an heiress, haven’t you heard? I’m surprised one of the others didn’t tell you. My aunt, or rather great-aunt, died recently and left me a fortune.”

  That was putting it rather strongly. Aunt Euphegenia had left a nice sum, but it wasn’t exactly a fortune. Not to mention she’d left it to her dog.

  “So no more playing secretary. Bully for you!” He raised his glass in a toast and offered me a wide smile that turned his plain face into something almost bordering handsome.

  He was a nice fellow. I really hoped he wasn’t the thief. I was still trying to figure out how to worm the whole burglary thing into conversation when we were called to dinner by Johnson pounding on a gong.

  “Mr. Malburn sends his apologies, my lord, but he’s running late and won’t be here until early morning tomorrow.”

  “Typical Alex,” Freddy said cheerfully, taking Toni’s arm to lead her into dinner.

  That, of course, left Lil glaring at them. It seemed Toni outranked Lil or something like that, so the host had to escort her. The whole thing was equal nonsense and rather charming.

  Freddy played host at one end of the table while Toni sat in for hostess at the other, which naturally made Lil see green, though she did settle down when she discovered she was seated next to Freddy. I was seated between Simon Parlance and the empty chair that was supposed to include Alex Malburn. Raymond Frain sat across from me with Mary next to him.

  “Come sit by me, Sugar,” Toni begged. “We can have a bit of girl talk.”

  I’d hoped to have a chance to question Raymond further and perhaps Simon as well, but this would maybe give me the chance to bond with Mary and find out what she knew. Plus, I enjoyed Toni’s company, so I scooted over a seat.

  Dinner was a jovial affair of five courses, starting with something Toni informed me was a consommé burnoise. To me, it looked like a lot of neatly diced vegetables in a clear broth, also referred to as vegetable soup. It more or less tasted like that, too, only perhaps richer than what my mother cooked on her stove at home.

  Next came large chunks of fish accompanied by a gravy boat of Hollandaise sauce.

  “Poached turbot!” Toni declared, clapping her hands. “How lovely.”

  I took only a small portion, already feeling a bit full from the soup and not being a huge fan of fish. Although I do love a good prawn, and I have a feeling if I ever get the chance to taste lobster, I’ll love that, too.

  The third course was of roast guinea fowl which Lord Chasterly informed us he’d shot himself. I hoped I didn’t chip a tooth on a stray piece of buckshot, but it was surprisingly tasty, meaty, if a bit gamey.

  When dessert arrived, I was hoping it was the last course. I was already feeling overstuffed, but the raspberry fool—fresh raspberries whipped into a rich vanilla custard and topped with more fresh raspberries—looked divine and tasted better.

  And then the final course arrived, and I nearly let out a groan as the cheese platter was passed around. Frankly, I didn’t understand why they were eating cheese after dessert. It seemed a bit... backward.

  By the time we regrouped in the sitting room for coffee and cognac, I was swearing off food. This was nuts. Wasn’t Britain on rations?

  When I said so to Toni she laughed. “Darling, look at this place. Do you think Freddy has to worry about a bit of rationing? Not to mention, fish isn’t rationed.
In any case, just about everything we ate came from this property, except the sugar, of course, but he’s got bees so there’s plenty of honey.”

  It was astonishing to me that one could have so much food during a time when it was supposedly scarce. It simply baffled. If I ate like this every day, none of my new dresses would fit.

  The after-dinner conversation was incredibly dull. Everyone gossiping about people I’d never heard of and places I’d never been. I was about to excuse myself—after all, I was feeling tired, not being used to such late hours—when the conversation suddenly took an interesting turn.

  “Did you ever find your necklace, Lil?” Simon asked loudly.

  Everyone turned to stare at her.

  Lil’s expression was clearly one of anger and frustration. “No, I haven’t. I’m telling you the thief took it at Lady Harwood’s garden party. I know it. And it was an heirloom, too!”

  I realized they were referring to one of the thefts by the mysterious house party burglar. I perked up, hoping to learn something interesting.

  “I’m sure they’ll catch him eventually,” Freddy soothed. “Maybe they’ll be able to recover your necklace then.”

  “What do you suppose they’ll do to the thief once they catch him?” Toni mused.

  Lil’s face was growing redder by the minute. “I hope they hang him.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come now, that seems a bit much, old girl,” Freddy said as everyone else stared at Lil in shock.

  I could understand being upset about a stolen heirloom. Even wanting the person responsible to pay. But wanting them to hang? That seemed a bit over the top. I made a personal note to never get on Lil’s bad side.

  “I don’t think so at all,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “These people, they take advantage. How dare they think they have a right to take what isn’t theirs. They should pay!”

  “I agree,” Mary said with a tipsy giggle. “To making them pay!” She raised her glass in mock salute.

  “What would you do if you ran into burglar?” Simon asked Lil curiously. He seemed completely unperturbed by her outburst.