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IF ROSEMARY HAD THOUGHT Barton Manor was impressive yet ostentatious under cover of darkness, it was nothing to how she felt about the place in the bright light of day. She remembered what Leonard had said about new money and even newer houses, and now, seeing walls lacking the patina of age, understood exactly what he had meant.
Wadsworth pulled into the drive and opened the door for his mistress. “I will be right here when your business concludes, madam.”
“We shan’t be long, Wadsworth,” Rosemary promised.
Had she had her way about it, she and Vera would have met Grace at the tearoom in the village rather than go back to Barton Manor. Acting as though she were impervious to the trauma of seeing a dead body might serve her well for getting around Max, but she was, after all, only human. She wondered if she could ever forget the image of the wound to Mr. Cuthburt’s head or the sickening feeling that had welled up in the pit of her stomach when she saw his lifeless body.
However, she had questions that could only be answered using her eyes and her instincts, which meant there was no other choice but to return to the scene of the crime.
Geoffrey answered the door with a clipped, “May I help you, ladies?” His expression remained neutral, as expected, but there was an impatience to his tone that implied he had other things to do and considered them more important than anything Rosemary or Vera required.
“We’re here to see Grace, please. She is expecting us,” Rosemary answered in a tone her mother would deem appropriate for dealing with staff, but one she was rarely forced to use when speaking to her own butler.
“Right this way, please,” Geoffrey replied, leading them once again into the elegant entrance hall. “Miss Grace is out on the veranda. Straight down the corridor, you will find a set of glass doors. I trust you can find your way.” With a final, enigmatic look, he stalked off in the other direction.
Vera waited until he was out of earshot, then turned on her heel and returned to the entrance hall. “What an absolute pill. Did you see him putting on airs? If you hadn’t given him a taste of Evelyn Woolridge, he’d have turned us out on our ears.”
Mischief sparkled in Vera despite the gravity of the atmosphere.
“You really ought to be careful, darling girl, or you shall turn into your mother before you’re thirty.”
Rosemary tossed her head, but couldn’t hold back a rueful smile. “I don’t know why I put up with you, but no matter. Now is our chance to learn exactly what Mr. Cuthburt was up to during the party. He came out of that door,” she said, looking around to make sure they were alone.
Curiosity mounting, the two friends crossed over to the door beneath the massive set of stairs, and Vera pushed it open. She let out a frustrated breath. Rosemary shoved past her and, to her disappointment, found herself standing in the middle of a small space that doubled as a coat cupboard and a private telephone room.
Shiny brass rods stretched across three-quarters of the coat cupboard, laden with dozens of coats Rosemary assumed belonged to the residents of Barton Manor. The narrow far wall had been stuffed to capacity, leaving an extensive section on the right-hand side empty, presumably to make room for the belongings of the party guests.
To her right rested a carved wooden desk that held a telephone, a stack of mail, and a pad and pencil for taking down messages.
“I suppose that’s one mystery solved,” Rosemary declared, her voice wry. “Mr. Cuthburt was merely hanging up his coat. Geoffrey is such a stickler for order and protocol; he probably didn’t appreciate Mr. Cuthburt taking matters into his own hands.”
Vera nodded in agreement. “I know you were hoping to find some clue here, Rosie, but I see nothing out of the ordinary. Except that Mrs. Barton owns enough fur coats to wear a different one each day of the winter. Personally, I would never relegate such fine specimens to a coat cupboard beneath the stairs. What would stop a guest from simply walking out with one?”
“I highly doubt Mrs. Barton would miss one coat from this collection. My mother would have a fit if she saw this room. She would call it a grandiose, unnecessary display of excess.” Rosemary mimicked Evelyn’s voice with such accuracy Vera couldn’t hold back a giggle.
“You proved my earlier point brilliantly, though I can’t argue with you. We ought to get out of here before someone notices where we have escaped to and accuses us of trying to make off with one of Mrs. Barton’s pelts.”
“Right you are,” Rosemary said. “Shall we go and find Grace? Check first to make sure no one is looking.”
“The key to exiting any room where one does not belong,” Vera said in a lofty tone, “is simply to hold your head high, and act as if you had every right.”
With that, she thrust open the door, and with her nose in the air, sailed down the corridor.
But, only a moment later, Vera halted. “Do you hear that?” she asked in a stage whisper.
“No, what?” Rosemary strained to listen and heard the sounds of an argument wafting from beneath the door to one of the sitting rooms. It was the second time in as many days she had unashamedly eavesdropped, and she hoped it wasn’t becoming a habit that would prove difficult to break.
“Eva, you know how hard I’ve been working lately. Do you honestly think I have time to cavort around behind your back?” Mr. Barton shouted. Mrs. Barton’s reply was too muffled to understand, though her voice had risen to a pitch that might have cut glass.
“What do you mean, what have I been working so hard for? I have been trying to wrap up these business affairs, secure a few more investments, and ensure that the company is above-board. I would like to retire at some point, you know. Never have I enjoyed the company of another woman, and I will not continue being hounded about something you’ve made up in your head. This conversation is over!” Rosemary and Vera hurried down the corridor, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment.
“That was interesting,” Rosemary commented. “But now we have to focus on Grace. Our musings on the subject will have to wait.”
