I surfaced from a deep sleep and gradually became aware of noises in the hall. A door thudded, and I rolled over to look at the luminous dial of my watch that I’d left on the bedside table. Five in the morning. Voices murmured and staccato footsteps pounded by. I pushed back the blankets and reached for my dressing gown.
The chandeliers and wall sconces glowed brightly in the hallway, and I had to pause for a moment while my eyes adjusted. I followed the sound of voices down the corridor. When I came to the head of the central staircase, Elrick’s deep voice floated up. He stood at the telephone table, asking to be connected with the police.
The door to the servants’ staircase had been left ajar, which was unusual, and voices in sharp questioning tones filtered through the opening. I padded along, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet runner, and poked my head through the half-open door. In contrast to the sumptuous furnishings in the front rooms of the house, the servants’ staircase was made of small treads of plain dark wood. No runner covered the narrow steps, and the walls were painted a flat white.
Mrs. Monce, who was in a pale blue dressing gown and had a scarf tied around her hair, was guiding a young housemaid down the flight of stairs below me. The housekeeper’s arm was around the girl’s shoulders, and the girl’s white cotton nightgown billowed around her as they descended. Mrs. Monce was murmuring soothing phrases, but the housemaid’s steady stream of words continued to flow.
“. . . didn’t realize she’d left our room and gone to the loo during the night. I had no idea she was so sick. I feel so awful. Dr. Benhurst said she must have been in there for hours and hours, too weak to move. If only she’d been able to make it back to our room, I could have called for help. I didn’t even know—”
“Hush now,” Mrs. Monce said. “What you need is a cup of tea . . .”
Their voices trailed away as they disappeared down the stairs, but the voices from the floor above me were growing louder. I climbed the stairs to the floor above, my bare feet slapping on the cold wood. Servants in nightclothes stood in clumps along the narrow hallway. I almost didn’t recognize Dowd with her hair in pin curls and a frilly pink dressing gown wrapped around her bulky figure, but her glare was unmistakable. Dowd was speaking to another servant nearby, saying, “I know why Stella called for that minx. Stella wanted to accuse her to her face. At least Dr. Benhurst is in there. He’ll hear the whole thing and can testify—”
Dowd broke off as I stepped forward. “What’s happened?”
“Stella’s been sick all night—just like Her Grace was.”
I went to the open door and paused as the odor of sickness washed over me. The room was small and plain with only two narrow beds pushed against opposite walls and a deal dresser between them. A thin cotton curtain covered a window set high in the wall above the dresser. One bed was empty, the quilt thrown back and the sheets rumpled.
The only person in street clothes, who I assumed was Dr. Benhurst, was a slender man with a bristling mustache that I hadn’t seen before. He’d removed his jacket and laid it across the foot of the empty bed. A gold watch chain stretched across his waistcoat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
As I paused in the doorway, he was pulling a sheet over the face of the body that lay in the second bed. I only caught a glimpse of flyaway tangled brown hair before he covered Stella’s face. Shocked, I put a hand to my chest. What had happened?
The doctor smoothed the sheet and began to unroll his sleeves as he turned to Gigi, who knelt beside the bed. She was completely still and looked shell-shocked. Her face and neck were pasty against her blood-red silk kimono.
“There’s nothing more to do here,” Dr. Benhurst said. “You should return to your room and try to get some rest. I can prescribe something for you.”
Gigi didn’t move. I stepped into the room. “Dr. Benhurst?”
He didn’t reply, just shrugged into his jacket as he took in my silk dressing gown. “You’re a friend of Lady Gina’s?”
“Yes. I’m Olive Belgrave.”
“Well then, Miss Belgrave, take your friend downstairs and get a cup of hot tea with plenty of sugar into her. She’s had a shock and needs to rest before the police speak to her.”
“You are sure it’s a police matter?” I asked, even though I couldn’t think of any reason that Stella, who had been healthy only hours before, would now be lying with a sheet covering her face.
“Oh, yes. No doubt about it. She exhibited exactly the same symptoms as Her Grace.”
I tucked the blanket around Gigi. “There. That should help you warm up.”
I’d drawn Gigi to her feet and guided her back to her sitting room. I’d rung for a maid to make up the fire because Gigi’s hands had been icy when she’d gripped my arm as I’d helped her up.
A blaze was crackling, and I’d shifted her chair as close as possible to the warmth, but she was still shivering. I sat down in the chair across from her and poured her a cup of tea, then stirred in several lumps of sugar. “Drink this.”
She took a sip, then a ghost of a smile crossed her face. “I would have thought it would be something more potent—brandy, at least.”
“Doctor’s orders. Tea with heaps of sugar for you.”
She grimaced. “He thinks I did it.”
“Did what?”
“Poisoned Stella. It was arsenic again.” Gigi didn’t drink any more, just held the cup and warmed her hands. “He said he has no question about it. It’s the same thing that happened to Granny.”
I picked up my own cup of tea. “But how can he be so sure?”
“Dr. Benhurst was with Stella for the last several hours. He said Stella’s symptoms were the same as Granny’s.” I didn’t think it would be possible for Gigi to look worse, but her skin transitioned from white to ashen. Her teacup clattered against the saucer as she put it down. “The police will be here soon, and they’ll take me away.”
“What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
“Because of that box of chocolates.”
“I don’t understand.”
Gigi tilted her head toward the rubbish bin. “Remember the box of chocolates? That same box was in Stella’s room. Someone left it on her bed with a note that read, ‘From your secret admirer.’ It was the only thing Stella ate that was different from everyone else.”
“But that would mean that someone came in here—”
“Yes,” Gigi said with a sharp nod, “and took the box away, then added arsenic to the chocolates. I saw them—the chocolates—when Dr. Benhurst was looking at them. There were a few of them left in the box. They’d been cut open and then—resealed, I suppose you’d say. It was sloppily done, not at all what Fortley’s Chocolates look like. They’re the finest chocolates, you know.”
“The one you ate earlier—are you sure it didn’t look like the others?”
“No. I know it didn’t. They have such pretty designs. They looked like flowers or had crisscross patterns when I ate one, but now all the imprints on the chocolates are smudged.”
“I suppose you could cut them open, then use a little heat from a candle or a lighter to warm up the chocolate and smooth over the cut to mask it.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it looked like. I would have noticed. But Stella didn’t.”
Gigi bent forward and put her elbows on her knees, then rested her forehead against the heels of her hands. Her words were muffled as she said, “It was so, so awful, Olive. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen—watching someone die.”
I put down my cup and patted her on the shoulder. After a few moments, she dug in a pocket and took out a handkerchief.
“Why were you there, in Stella’s room?” I asked as she wiped her eyes.
“Because she asked for me. But then when I got there, she wasn’t coherent. She just kept asking for her mother. It was—” Gigi pressed the handkerchief to her mouth for a moment. “She kept saying ‘Ma’ over and over again. Olive, why would someone do that to Stella?”
I remembered Stella’s preoccupation and how she’d asked about the inspector. “She must have seen something or realized something that threatened the person who murdered your grandmother.”
A sharp knock sounded. The door was flung open, and Thorn strode in. He went directly to Gigi. By the time Thorn stopped in front of her, she’d tucked away the handkerchief, straightened her posture, and her face was composed. The sergeant, his hair a little rumpled in the back, followed Thorn in and went to a chair in the corner of the room. He took out a notepad and balanced it on his knee.
“Good evening, Lady Gina.” Thorn didn’t wait for an invitation to sit down. He pulled a chair close to us.
“I’ll save you some time, Inspector,” Gigi said. “My fingerprints will be on the box of chocolates, but I didn’t do it.”
“They were your chocolates.”
“No, they were delivered to me. I’d thrown them in the rubbish.”
“Did you eat any?”
“One.”
“Only one?” Disbelief laced Thorn’s tone.
“Yes, just one,” Gigi said firmly. “I only allow myself one. I’m very strict about sweets.”
“Then there were twenty-three left.”
“And those had been tampered with,” Gigi said, describing how the chocolates looked smudged when Dr. Benhurst examined them.
“So you say,” Thorn murmured under his breath. “Who sent you the chocolates?”
“One of my dancing partners, a young man I barely know. Thomas was his name, I believe.”
“You don’t know his surname?”
“No, I don’t remember.”
“Yet he sent you chocolates?”
“He wants to know me better, Inspector. Elrick will be able to give you his full name. He sees to all the deliveries. But I’m sure the young man didn’t have anything to do with Stella’s death.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“Why would someone I barely know send poisoned chocolates?”
“I suppose it depends on what happened between you two on the dance floor.”
“I must ask you to watch your tone, Inspector.” Gigi’s carefully modulated words were as cold as the November wind. “I’m willing to speak with you because what’s happened to Stella is appalling, and I want the person who did that to her caught. If, however, you continue to make these uncalled-for comments, I’ll contact my solicitor and tell you nothing else.”
Thorn dipped his head. “I apologize, Lady Gina.” Before Gigi replied, he went on, “You do realize that if it wasn’t your dancing partner who altered the chocolates, it was someone in this house.”
Gigi closed her eyes briefly. “Yes.”
Thorn held out his hand. “Do you recognize this?” A small cameo brooch rested in a handkerchief.
“Yes, that’s Clara’s,” Gigi said. “She wears it on her coat or sometimes on her hat.”
“She’d lost it, though.” I recounted how Clara had come to my door and we’d searched my room.
“Where was it found?” Gigi asked Thorn.
He folded the fabric over the cameo and tucked it into his pocket. “In a drawer in the dead girl’s room.”
“Stella,” Gigi said. “Her name was Stella Barstow.”
“Right. Was Stella known to be light-fingered?”
Gigi looked scandalized. “No. Certainly not. Stella was not a thief.”
“It’s something to be considered,” Thorn said mildly.
“Stella liked fine things, but she would never take something that wasn’t hers. I don’t know how she came to have it, but I’m sure she didn’t steal it.”
“The maid who shared a room with Miss Barstow—” Thorn looked to his sergeant, who supplied the name.
“Lillian Gramarcy.”
“Right,” Thorn said. “Miss Lillian Gramarcy says she saw Stella putting the cameo in the drawer and asked Stella about it. She said she’d found it and, as it was late, she’d give it to Mrs. Monce in the morning.”
“There you are,” Gigi said.
“Yet a model servant would have turned it in the moment she found it,” Thorn said.
“Yes, but as I said, Stella liked fine things. Surely you understand that, Inspector. You can’t blame her for wanting to possess it for a few hours. I’m sure she would have taken it to Mrs. Monce first thing in the morning.”
Thorn made a humming sound that indicated he was doubtful. I could see his point. To be accused of theft was a nightmare for a servant. It might mean instant dismissal. But Stella had handled my gold evening gown reverently. She’d stroked the silk in a way that was almost a caress. I could imagine her taking a risk and holding onto the cameo so she could enjoy it for a while.
Someone tapped on the door, and a constable stuck his head in. When he saw Thorn, he hurried across the room and whispered something in his ear.
Thorn stood. “I’ll have more questions for you later, Lady Gina.”
After he and the sergeant left, Gigi’s stiff posture collapsed, and she fell back against the chair. “What a horrible man. Stella, a thief! It’s absurd.”
The teapot was still warm, so I poured out fresh cups for us. We sipped in silence for a moment, then Gigi said, “As much as I dislike the man, he’s right.”
“About it being someone here in the house? Yes, it must be.”
“But who would do such a thing—twice!”
“Let’s go over everyone carefully, starting with your grandmother’s death.”
Gigi lifted her cup and swirled her tea. She watched the liquid a moment. “Dowd would never harm Granny. She’s too loyal, and she wouldn’t kill her employer. The same goes for Clara. They’d both be out of a job. And Felix won’t gain anything either—monetarily, at least,” Gigi said. “He would be free of Granny’s manipulation, though.”
As would Gigi, I thought but didn’t say aloud.
Gigi continued, “And then there’s Addie. Granny interfered in her life, but would she poison two people?” Gigi rubbed her forehead. “No, I just can’t imagine it.”
“But someone did it.”
“It doesn’t make sense. No one has an especially strong motive.”
“Perhaps we just haven’t uncovered the real motive yet.”
“But how can we do that?”
A quiet tap caused both Gigi and me to turn toward the door. For a second, I thought Thorn had returned, but it couldn’t be him because the soft knock that came again was very different from Thorn’s peremptory banging. A young woman, who I recognized as the maid Mrs. Monce had led down the stairs, poked her head around the door. Her long black hair was now drawn up into a neat bun, and she’d changed into a black dress and freshly pressed apron, but her eyes and nose were pink.
“Come in, Lillian,” Gigi said. The maid held a salver with an envelope and brought it to me. I worked my finger under the flap, then drew out the flimsy sheet of writing paper.
It was from Boggs. “That was fast work,” I murmured under my breath. I’d written to him after I returned from Gunter’s. I hadn’t expected to hear from him for several days. It read, I have a few details to pass along. If it is convenient for you, I will be at the Mathis Theater all day.
The maid said, “Lady Gina, Mrs. Monce sent me to remind you the inquest is this morning and to help you dress.”
“Oh, that’s right. Thank you, Lillian. I’d completely forgotten. That’s going ahead, then?”
“Nine thirty, my lady,” Lillian said. “Mr. Elrick asked the policeman.”
Gigi rubbed her forehead. “Then I’ll wear my black silk, the one with the jet beading. I’ll bathe while you lay it out for me along with the matching shoes.”
“Very good, my lady.” Lillian went through to Gigi’s room and opened the enormous wardrobe.
Gigi put her cup on the tray and stood. “The funeral will be after the inquest and is for family only, per Granny’s orders, then we’re all to come back here for the reading of the will in the library—terribly trite, I know. But Benny says Granny stipulated the schedule of events in great detail.”
“Benny?”
“Mr. Tower. He’s a rule-follower, so he’ll carry it out. However, Granny didn’t have the foresight to envision there would be an inquest into her death, and it is open to attend. Are you coming?”
“No.” I slipped the note from Boggs back into the envelope. “I think my time is better spent elsewhere. I have a few things I must do.”