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ROSEMARY WOKE THE NEXT morning and scowled at Vera, who was lying next to her, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and snoring soundly. The scowl quickly changed to a look of adoration when she noted the peaceful expression on her friend’s face. No nightmares had intruded upon Rosemary’s slumber, and she knew she could thank Vera’s comforting presence for that.
By the time she had bathed and donned a charcoal-gray calf-skimming dress that still paid homage to her heavy heart yet did not make her appear as drawn as pure black, Vera was awake, and her hair tamed into submission. Anna had come in to stoke the fire and eyed her mistress with concern.
“I’m perfectly fine, Anna. We both are,” she added when Anna looked over at Vera with the same question in her eyes. “I promise. Please, try not to worry.”
“Yes, miss,” Anna murmured, though with a reluctance that suggested she could not completely wipe the concern from her mind. Poor Anna possessed a timid nature, and any change in routine tended to turn her pale with worry.
“I’m absolutely famished after our adventures last night. What are the chances there’s a pile of bacon waiting for us downstairs?” Vera asked, her eyes alight with more than hunger.
Her mouth watering at the sheer thought, Rosemary’s stomach grumbled. “Pretty good, I’d say. But why don’t we go and find out if I’ve underestimated the cook?”
It might have been any other day at Woolridge House; the entire family was gathered save Frederick, including Stella and her husband, Leonard, and of course, little Nelly. Rosemary rolled her eyes, a plan to find and wake her brother from his hungover stupor with a cup of cold water already forming. The folds of a newspaper hid Mr. Woolridge’s face, but Mrs. Woolridge kept the conversation going for the entire group.
“Really, dear, four pieces of bacon at breakfast? Is there something you and Leonard are keeping from us, or do you have a deeply seated desire to expand your waistline for no good reason?” Evelyn prodded Stella, whose ears turned a bright shade of red when she noticed Rosemary and Vera standing in the doorway.
“Well, come on in and eat, then, Rosemary, Vera,” Mrs. Woolridge continued without taking a breath. "There’s tea, of course, and coffee if you would prefer, toast, bacon, eggs, and fruit. Perhaps you could put a plate of the latter in front of your sister, lest she consumes all the bacon before you even get a taste.”
“Evelyn, let the poor girl alone,” Mr. Woolridge said, rustling his paper as he set it and his reading glasses on the table next to his untouched plate and casting a grin at Rosemary. Nobody else in the house dared say a scolding word to Evelyn save her and her father, and they enjoyed ribbing her on the rare occasions the three were in the same room. “She will never want to eat another rasher of bacon again, and that would indeed be a tragedy.” Cecil winked at his youngest daughter and refused to meet his wife’s irritated gaze.
The two Woolridge daughters exchanged a conspiratorial glance, and Vera said innocently, “I think you’re positively glowing, Stella dear.” Her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her lip turned up. “Though how could anyone blame you, with such an adorable child and a wildly handsome husband? Why, I believe you, as they say, have it all!”
Mr. Woolridge couldn’t help but grin, Stella’s smile expanded, and Leonard flushed six shades of red. However, Evelyn bustled out of the dining room door, citing a need for more milk even though there were two jugs of it already on the table.
Rosemary allowed Nelly to climb onto her lap and nip a slice of melon off her plate, leaning over the table as she snuggled his blond head. “How are you, Leonard?”
“Right as rain, but the more appropriate question is, how are you? Had quite an outing last night, if I’ve heard correctly.” Leonard appeared intrigued by a murder having occurred so close to Woolridge House.
Evelyn returned just in time to hear what Leonard had said. “Really, is this any kind of talk to have at the breakfast table? Nelly dear, go outside and play.”
“But I’m not finished with the bacon yet, and Auntie Rose said she would take me out to see the horses.”
Leonard cleared his throat in a way that held no real malice but caused Nelly’s eyes to widen. “Go outside like your Gran asked you to. You can feed the pony, but stay out of the stables unless there’s an adult present.” Nelly looked like he might argue but thought better of it. Rosemary gave him a squeeze before he hopped off her lap.
“Would you rather discuss it over lunch, Evelyn?” Mr. Woolridge asked wryly once Nelly had tottered off. “This affair is all anyone will talk about, and our family is, at least for the time being, under scrutiny. It seems to me we all ought to be on the same page.”
“Why on earth would we be under scrutiny? Obviously, this—this murder,” Evelyn nearly whispered the word, as if she thought the culprit would hear it and come looking for his next victim, “was a random act of violence. A burglar, or a tramp, perhaps. We have no connection to this Ernest Cuthburt. Surely the police will understand that, and then we can all stop discussing such unpleasantness.”
Mr. Woolridge gazed at his wife with a look of incredulity on his face. “Evelyn, don’t be daft. You need to face the facts. I do business with Mr. Barton and Mr. Cuthburt. We were both present during the time of the murder, and our daughter discovered the body. We are not out of this situation, not by a long shot.”
If Cecil Woolridge had not been one hundred percent correct, Rosemary might have had to stifle a giggle at the expression on her mother’s face.
“What type of business, Cecil?” Evelyn's voice had an edge to it, and for once, she threw propriety out the window. It was not her custom to question her husband, and certainly not in front of their children, but the situation had made her desperate. Even the most even-keeled person in the world could get riled up and say or do something entirely out of character under such circumstances. It was one thing Rosemary had learnt, not from Andrew or her time investigating, but as a woman of the world who paid attention to her surroundings.
He sighed. “Nothing scandalous, Evelyn, and nothing for you to worry about. My lawyers did a thorough investigation before I handed over a penny. However, Ernest could have been killed for many reasons, his business dealings notwithstanding.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary noted that Vera, along with Leonard and Stella, watched as the scene played out, absently depositing bites of food and sips of tea into their mouths, despite paying absolutely no attention to their meal. She couldn’t blame them, given the way her mother’s face now looked—as if steam were about to pour from her ears.
Mrs. Woolridge appeared to realize suddenly that she and her husband were not alone in the room. She smoothed her dress, brushed a stray lock of graying hair from her brow, and pointed her nose in the air. “If it wasn’t a burglar, then it must have been one of the Bartons. After all, the murder happened inside their home, and the party acted as a distraction. You be careful, Rosemary, and you too, Vera. I’d keep my distance from all the Bartons if I were you.”
Rosemary instantly knew precisely to whom her mother was referring: Theodore Barton, the very man she had hoped to pair her daughter with less than twelve hours earlier. She merely nodded, tamping down her irritation as was her way. Better not to rock the boat, especially when Evelyn Woolridge was on board and in a pique besides.
“I can’t imagine being invited to a party and then finding a dead body while I was there. Was it absolutely gruesome, Rose?” Stella asked, her eyes wide. Evelyn harrumphed but for once did not rebuke her youngest daughter.
“It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds, I can tell you that. The police will have their work cut out for them. So many people spread across the whole of the house—well, it doesn’t make their jobs any easier, that’s for certain,” Rosemary said.
Leonard tipped his teacup up and took a long sip. “And to think, I could have seen both Barton Manor and been part of a murder investigation. While I’m happy to have missed out on all the gory details, I have to say I’m disappointed to have missed my chance of a look inside that monstrosity.”
“The manor house, you mean?” Vera asked.
“Yes,” Leonard confirmed through a mouthful of toast. “It’s a perfect example of how new money has shaped the decline of traditional architecture. These big shots pay exorbitant amounts of money to an architect who believes he’s won first prize and that this is the job that will define his career. They want all the modern conveniences but in a traditional package, and often their demands resemble a list of wants drafted by a child. What results is fodder for those of us who are lucky enough to sit back in our leather desk chairs and critique the work of others.”
Rosemary’s lips turned up into an amused grin. “You wanted to go to Barton Manor because you think it’s ugly?”
“Essentially, yes.” Leonard winked at Rosemary and ignored the reproachful look Mrs. Woolridge cast in his direction. Mr. Woolridge grinned behind the paper he had lifted back in front of his face, and the mood lightened slightly.
That was until the doorbell rang a moment later. Inspector Max Whittington walked into the dining room with a frown on his face. Rosemary felt Vera’s elbow digging into her side and recognized that her friend must have had to bite her tongue half off keeping quiet during the previous, uncomfortable conversation with Evelyn. No doubt she would have less luck now that Max had arrived.
“Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge, I do apologize for interrupting your breakfast, but I am on a tight timetable. I must insist on having a word with you both immediately. Some additional details have come to light, and there are a few more questions that need answering. I hope I’m not intruding too rudely.” Max knew how to phrase a demand as though it were a polite question, Rosemary assessed.
Her father rose from his chair, brushed the crumbs from his lap, and clapped a hand to Max’s outstretched one. “Of course, good sir. Let us retire to my study upstairs. Fewer prying ears, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at Rosemary, allowed the glimmer of a smile to flit across his face, and then gathered his wife and led both her and Max toward the entrance hall.
“Come on, Vera. I need your help with something. Right now,” Rosemary said, tugging on her friend’s arm with more force than was necessary. Served Vera right for poking her in the ribs earlier.
“Rosie!” Vera protested, a piece of toast still in her hand. “I haven’t finished yet.”
“Yes, you have,” Rosemary insisted, dragging her through the dining room door with Stella and Leonard staring after them in astonishment.
