A Most Novel Revenge (29 page)

“And so I feel that I am so close to the truth, and yet nothing really seems to make sense,” I concluded.

“And what is it you would like me to do?” he asked calmly.

“I'm not entirely sure,” I said. “But I thought that perhaps you might speak with this Inspector Laszlo. Perhaps you might put in a good word for us, so to speak.”

“I doubt this Inspector Laszlo will enjoy having Scotland Yard poking into his affairs. But I can make a phone call or two.”

“Thank you, Inspector. That would be lovely.”

“I don't suppose I need to tell you not to get involved in anything dangerous, Mrs. Ames.

“Naturally, I am doing my best to keep from getting too deeply involved.”

“Liar,” Milo murmured.

“Be quiet,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, not you, Inspector. I was talking to Mr. Ames.”

“He's there with you? Might I speak with him?”

“Of course. Thank you again, Inspector. I shall ring you up when we are back in London with a full report.”

I turned to Milo. “He wants to talk to you.”

Milo's brow rose, but he took the telephone from me. “How are you, Inspector? Yes. I'm afraid so. Yes … it seems I can't take Amory anywhere.”

I frowned at him, but he didn't look at me, listening instead to whatever Inspector Jones was telling him.

“Yes, of course,” he said at last. “Certainly. We shall let you know. Good day, Inspector.”

“What did he say?” I asked as Milo rang off.

“It was a private conversation between two gentlemen. That's all you need to know.”

He was only trying to annoy me, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Very well,” I said, sailing past him and into the hallway, “then I shan't tell you about the very interesting conversation I had with Mr. Roberts this morning.”

“Did it involve him wanting to see you in the nude?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, one never can tell here at Lyonsgate,” he said.

We reached the entrance hall and stopped at the foot of the stairs. I turned to Milo. “I haven't time for this nonsense at the moment. Mrs. Roland says her friend Mrs. Fletcher might be able to provide us with information. She lives in the village. Will you take me this afternoon?”

“Of course. I've been wanting the chance to drive my car.”

“Oh, Milo, there you are!” It was Lucinda Lyons, coming down the stairs. “I was hoping you would go riding with me this afternoon. This house is about to drive me mad. I'm sure Reggie won't mind my riding if you're with me, and I promise not to need to be rescued.”

She smiled a bit ruefully, and I supposed Beatrice's harsh comments at dinner and our subsequent conversation had discouraged Lucinda from future provocative behavior.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Milo replied without enthusiasm. “I'm driving Mrs. Ames to the village.”

“Oh.” She looked crestfallen for a moment, and then her face brightened. “Perhaps I can go with you? I should love to get away from this wretched house for a while.”

“I'm afraid my car is a two-seater,” Milo said.

“Oh, I see.” She was clearly disappointed, and I felt a bit sorry for her. I could not blame her for wanting to get away from Lyonsgate, if only for the afternoon. The atmosphere seemed to become more oppressive by the hour.

Milo seemed to sense her disappointment as well. “If you're not otherwise engaged, however, I'll teach you to play billiards after dinner,” he offered.

She smiled. Her reply was almost too quiet to hear, but I was fairly certain I had heard it right. “I'm sure I should love anything you would care to teach me.” Apparently, she had not been completely discouraged, after all.

 

26

WE DROVE TOWARD
the village that afternoon, Milo mercifully going a bit slower on the curving roads. There was one especially sharp curve with deep ditches along either side, and I was relieved when we passed through that area without incident.

The day was cloudy, but the occasional burst of sunlight shone through, all the more appreciated for its rarity. I felt vaguely as though I had made an escape from prison.

I leaned back against the leather seat and let out a breath. “I feel as though a great weight is lifted off me the farther we drive from the house.”

“Your color has improved since we left.”

“It is all a bit unnerving at Lyonsgate,” I admitted. “I'm rather on edge.”

“Perhaps it's time for the sedatives and brandy the good doctor prescribed.”

I laughed. “I don't think that will be necessary just yet, thank you.”

We drove along in companionable silence for a few moments, and I relished the comfort I felt in Milo's presence. Things had not always been this easy between us, and the simplicity of a quiet drive along a sun-dappled road was something to be savored. We had been through a lot together in the past year, and it had only drawn us closer.

I glanced over at him, admiring the smooth, handsome lines of his profile. I felt, as I did at odd moments, that flutter in my stomach that reminded me of when I had first fallen in love with him.

“Milo?” I asked at last, as my thoughts traveled over the events of the day.

“Hmm?”

“What did Inspector Jones say to you?”

“Still trying to extract information from unsuspecting gentlemen, I see,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road.

“I'm becoming rather good at it, I think.”

“It helps to be beautiful,” he said. “It puts people off their guard.”

“You know that from experience, I suppose,” I replied, slightly annoyed that he should discount my skills as an investigator. “Perhaps it's just that I have a knack for detecting.”

He glanced at me, his expression skeptical. “Do you suppose all these men would have bared their tortured, artistic souls to you if you were a hag?”

“You're far too cynical.”

“Beauty is nothing to be ashamed of, darling. You may as well use it to your advantage.”

“Another thing you know from experience.” It was amazing the doors Milo had had opened to him—figuratively and literally—because of his good looks.

He smiled. “I simply mean to point out that when motives are prettily packaged they are much more easily obscured.”

“Are you going to tell me what Inspector Jones said?” I demanded.

“Of course. You know I can't resist you when you frown at me that way. But I warn you: you won't like it.”

“I suspected as much.”

“He told me to do whatever was necessary to keep you out of trouble.”

“Did he indeed?” I scoffed, incensed.

“In fact, he recommended that I bring you back to London at once…” I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn't give me time. “He also said that he knew you wouldn't go.”

“I'm glad my faith in his intelligence was not unfounded.”

Milo smiled. “Now fair's fair. What did Mr. Roberts tell you?”

I recounted the lurid tale of passion and death beneath the hot African sun.

“It seems Isobel incited a great many deaths,” he remarked when I had finished.

“Yes,” I replied. “The last of which was her own.”

*   *   *

MRS. HILDEGARDE FLETCHER
lived in a quaint stone cottage at the end of a quiet lane in the village. She had the kind of home one would expect the village gossip to have. There was a white fence where roses would no doubt grow when the weather warmed, window boxes to hold assorted flowers, and what looked like a small kitchen garden in one corner of the tidy lawn. There were also several large windows in the house, which I felt certain would be beneficial to anyone wishing to see the comings and goings of the villagers. It was, in fact, rather an ideal setting.

I had been a bit hesitant about arriving at her house unannounced. She was, I had been led to believe, a widowed lady with a keenly developed sense of propriety. I should have thought that an unsolicited visit from a perfect stranger would be repugnant to her, but Mrs. Roland had assured me that she would enjoy the company.

I had also debated the relative merits of bringing Milo with me to call. While I knew perfectly well how beneficial his charm could be, there was also the distinct possibility that he might prove a distraction.

“Perhaps you should have a drink at the tavern and come back to get me,” I said, getting out of the car before he could come around to open the door. “I won't be long.”

Milo's brow rose. “Trying to rid yourself of me already?”

“She is not expecting company, and I thought one might be less intrusive than two.”

“Unwanted, am I? Well, no matter,” he said. “I shall go to the tavern as directed. I suppose there's not much mischief you can get into here.”

I closed the door without comment, and Milo smiled as he drove away.

I let myself through the fence and walked up the pathway to the door. My knock was opened punctually by a maid in a starched white apron, who told me that Mrs. Fletcher would be glad to see me. It almost seemed as though she'd had warning of my coming.

I was shown into a tidy parlor that was, quite honestly, not what I expected from an elderly widow. Perhaps I had been influenced by Mrs. Roland's exuberant décor. The room was exceptionally clean and almost Spartan in decoration. There was a table with a serviceable white cloth and four wooden chairs without cushions, and only a few pictures hung on the walls. There were, however, bright curtains upon the window and a colorful quilt on the back of the high-backed settee.

There was a lady sitting and knitting by the fire. She rose when I entered and came to meet me at the door.

“How do you do, my dear?” she asked brightly.

She was a bit different than what I had pictured. Frankly, the name had called to mind something of a fearsome creature, but she was short and plump with a round, ruddy face. Dark eyes sparkled merrily from beneath high brows and a halo of silver hair.

“Hello, Mrs. Fletcher. My name is Amory Ames.”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I know who you are. Your reputation precedes you.” I was not quite sure what was meant by this, but she was smiling as she said it, so I didn't think it could have been anything too dreadful.

“Sit down, won't you? Polly will bring us some tea.”

We walked to the chairs arranged before the fireplace, and I took the seat across from her. The fire was crackling merrily, and I felt immediately at home in the warm, cheerful room. The maid, Polly, came at once and brought in a tray with tea and biscuits.

When we were settled, teacups in hand, Mrs. Fletcher turned her benevolent gaze upon me.

“Now, Mrs. Ames. I suppose you've come to talk about Edwin Green's death.”

I was a bit surprised by this direct approach. I was not quite sure how to react to Mrs. Fletcher, for she said everything in the pleasantest of voices with a cheerful expression on her face.

“Why do you suppose that?” I asked lightly.

She gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Roland told me that you would likely come to call, but even if she hadn't, I keep abreast of London news, even here. You were involved in an investigation not long ago there. And before that, there was another at the seaside.”

“Yes,” I conceded. “That's so.”

She nodded. “Well, when I heard you were up there at Lyonsgate, I wondered if there wasn't something afoot. Not to cast aspersions on that group up there, but it isn't often that people of real quality come to these parts. The Lyonses have been gone since the tragedy, and it seemed strange to me that they should open up the manor and invite guests back so suddenly.”

She took a delicate sip of her tea before continuing.

“After I heard about what happened to Isobel Van Allen, I knew that I must be right. There was something behind the sudden gathering at Lyonsgate. It didn't take much to figure out that it must all have something to do with Edwin Green's death all those years ago. That's what started this whole mess, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. Inwardly I was debating on how candid I should be. I was often seen as a society wife with a head full of dinner parties and fashion. I was much more, of course, beneath the surface, but the guise was sometimes useful.

I had the feeling, however, that it would not be useful with Mrs. Fletcher. It seemed that she already knew why I was here, so I could see no good reason to conceal my interest in the subject, especially if she was willing and able to share her recollections. “Did you hear a lot of the tales of what was going on at Lyonsgate?”

“They were a wild group,” she said, but not unkindly. “A great deal of flashy cars went careening through the village at all hours. And there were rumors of very strange parties. Not that it was entirely unusual, I suppose. My generation makes a great deal of fuss about youthful exuberance, as though we had no scandals of our own. We did, of course. Plenty of them. Perhaps we just went about it with a bit more decorum.” She smiled brightly, and I had a hard time imagining that Hildegarde Fletcher had ever had a hint of scandal in her youth. It would not be the first time appearances had been deceiving, however.

I decided to steer the conversation along those lines since we were already discussing the subject. “I heard that there were several romantic entanglements that were occurring that weekend,” I said.

“Oh, yes, the rumor was that there were a great many romances going on at the time. It was much talked about, of course. The age difference being foremost among the quibbles. People frown upon such things.”

“Yes, I imagine they did,” I agreed. Isobel Van Allen's dalliances with younger men had long been a subject of gossip.

“None of us really knew, of course, what all went on up there. Rumors ran wild, as they always do. I didn't, at the time, think there was much harm in it.”