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THE CAR PULLED UP IN front of the Blackburn house, and Lorraine waited until the driver opened the door before turning to Rosemary and Vera with a glint in her eye. “Keep an eye on dear sweet Grace, won’t you girls? She’s been in such a fragile state, and I expect this might just push her over the edge.” She leaned in to give both girls a quick peck on their cheeks, and then she was gone with a whoosh of scent and a swirl of her gown.
Vera sunk down in the seat and heaved a sigh. “That woman will drive me mad one of these days,” she said, miserably. “Just you wait and see.”
“It doesn’t seem like too many people think highly of Grace. Or any of the Bartons, for that matter,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. Vera’s comment about her mother went ignored, Rosemary having heard the diatribe enough times she could recite it right along with her friend.
“Don’t you think it rather odd, this whole situation? Grace coming to look for Andrew, but finding me, whose family lives just down the road? I can’t imagine what the end game would be, and I definitely did not get the feeling of ‘crazed murderer’ from Grace, but still...”
“Personally, I have my eye on that Marjorie Ainsworth woman. It completely slipped my mind until just now, Rosie, but I saw her and Mr. Barton in a rather um, awkward situation.” Vera’s glance flicked away and back again as she said the words ‘awkward situation,’ and Rosemary’s jaw dropped.
“Do you mean what I think you mean?” she asked.
Vera shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, but I saw him follow her out onto the balcony—let’s see, it must have been just before my conversation with Mr. Abbot—and I decided to do some sleuthing. There’s a lovely spot between the curtains where you can look through the glass and also remain hidden from the view of everyone inside the ballroom and anyone out on the balcony,” she explained.
Rosemary wasn’t surprised her friend had managed to catch a glimpse of something scandalous, or even semi-scandalous—Vera was trained as an actress, after all, and keen observation was one of the skills she had honed to a fine point.
“Anyway, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they had their heads together and were speaking furtively. Marjorie seemed to get upset, said something that made Mr. Barton’s head look like it might explode, and then stalked off,” Vera finished, her eyes bright. “If it didn’t have to do with anything of an untoward nature, I will happily eat my shoe.”
“I will hold you to that, my love,” Rosemary said, the determination in her eyes belying her light tone. Vera must have seen Mr. Barton not long before she herself had seen him reenter the ballroom from the balcony. At least the look of irritation on his face made more sense now. Rosemary thought about it all the way back home and made a mental note to investigate the line of inquiry further at the first opportunity.
Woolridge House was quiet as a mouse when Rosemary and Vera entered, but all the same, Wadsworth stepped into the light of the entrance hall and appraised the pair with a narrow-eyed expression. “Is everything alright, madam? It’s later than you’d intended.”
“Yes, Wadsworth, it is. There was some excitement at the party,” Rosemary replied evenly. “A man was killed.” She enjoyed dropping the information and watching Wadsworth digest it. She offered no additional details but instead inquired as to the whereabouts of her maid, Anna.
“I gave her permission to retire for the evening. She has attended to your rooms, and your fire has been lit. Will Miss Blackburn be joining you?” Wadsworth asked, having adequately composed himself.
“She will. Now, stop fussing and go to bed yourself,” Rosemary commanded gently. Wadsworth raised an eyebrow but said nothing except the expected ‘Yes, madam,’ though Rosemary doubted he would get a wink of sleep for worrying about her safety.
The fire had reduced itself to coals, and Vera pushed Rosemary towards the bath, urging her to wash and dress for bed while she tended it. By the time Rosemary had removed her makeup and changed into her nightgown, the fire was back to roaring, and she took a minute to warm herself before hunting down the pad of paper and the pencils she had packed into her case.
“Vera,” Rosemary said, her eyes filled with apologies, “I’m sorry you were dragged into this. Truly, I didn’t think.”
Vera brushed off Rosemary’s concerns. “I knew exactly what I was getting into, Rosie dear. And if you think for one second I would have allowed you to walk into this situation alone, you don’t know just how much you mean to me.” Before Rosemary could say another word, Vera kissed her on the cheek and retreated into the other room.
While Vera took her turn bathing, Rosemary began to sketch. It helped clear her mind, and she also wanted to ensure that she retained as many details of the crime scene as possible. As her pencil worked across the page, she bit her lip and thought about all the events that had happened that evening.
It had been odd, the way the now deceased Mr. Cuthburt had been sneaking around, and even more curious that he’d ended up in Mr. Barton’s study. If he had had nefarious intentions, his meddling might have been precisely what got him killed.
Mrs. Blackburn’s opinion of Mr. Cuthburt only confused matters; Lorraine was the type of woman to hold a grudge over even an imagined slight, and so she had to take Vera’s mother’s ire towards the man with a pinch of salt. Rosemary wished she had noticed more of Mr. Cuthburt’s movements, but her eyes had been trained on Mr. Barton and anyone who appeared to harbor ill intent towards him.
Unfortunately, his overall attitude and demeanor were such that there might be any number of people who could want Mr. Barton dead. His wife, for example—spending thirty years married to a man who had enough ambition to aspire to great wealth, likely at the expense of his family’s happiness, could drive even the most timid woman to lash out. And Eva Barton was no wallflower, of that Rosemary was sure.
Grace’s father had posed a threat to her freedom. If he really had intended her to marry Herbert Lock, it would have given Grace enough ammunition to consider finding a way out, no matter what the cost. Rosemary knew there was more to that story and fully intended to discover the truth, but she still could not find a plausible explanation for why Grace would have employed her assistance if she had intended to commit the murder herself. Unless she was an even more gifted actress than Vera, Rosemary was positive Grace had not expected to stumble across a body when she had entered the study.
Marjorie Ainsworth’s expression during Mr. Cuthburt’s toast had spoken volumes—about what, though, Rosemary couldn’t say. Whether it had to do with the Bartons or Ernest himself was something that bore investigating. What Rosemary knew was that Marjorie had said something to anger Mr. Barton during the evening, leaving her to assume there was a connection between the two that would need ferreting out. She wouldn’t put anything past the insufferable woman.
Theodore Barton likely did not need the money his father might have left him; however, Rosemary had no idea what was the nature of their relationship. She thought about the way Frederick and their own father interacted but knew that even with friction, there was no way her brother would resort to something as deplorable as murder.
“Oh!” Rosemary exclaimed, dropping the sheaf of sketches she had completed onto the floor.
Vera poked her head out of the loo door. “Are you all right, Rosie?” she asked, her face full of concern.
“Where did Freddie get off to tonight? Did you see him in the ballroom after he went off with Teddy?” Rosemary asked, pacing the room.
Vera smiled. “I don’t think you need to worry about Frederick, my love. He thought it would be a good idea to place a bet with Herbert Lock to determine which idiot could consume the most gin without becoming ill. Unfortunately, I’m almost certain old Herbie slipped the barman half the pot in exchange for only filling his glass with water every other round. The last time I saw Frederick, he was half-seas over, lurching towards the loo. My best guess is he’s passed out somewhere, sleeping it off.”
“So much for brotherly love and all that.” Rosemary frowned, remembering Frederick’s vow to help her keep an eye on Mr. Barton. “I hope he wakes up with a hammer in his head,” she said, calming down and shaking her head at her brother’s questionable decision-making skills.
The sketches forgotten, Rosemary snuggled into bed and allowed the soft sounds of Vera’s breathing to calm her enough for sleep. It did not come easily, but it came eventually, and the last thing Rosemary remembered thinking before she drifted off was that she hoped for a dreamless night.
