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CORA CLOSED THE DOOR of the study.
“Were you admiring my late husband’s things?” a voice said behind her.
Tension flared through Cora’s back, and she turned around.
Mrs. Ivanov stood before her.
At least, Cora assumed it was Mrs. Ivanov. She had Mrs. Ivanov’s voice and Mrs. Ivanov’s height, but this woman had also clothed herself in all black. A dark veil obscured her face.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ivanov,” she said. “His room was lovely. Quite clean.”
“That is an observation of the housekeeping,” Mrs. Ivanov sniffed.
“I am sorry about your husband’s death,” she said somberly in an effort to distract from her snooping.
Mrs. Ivanov averted her gaze. “I heard you went to Alfriston for cream tea.”
“Yes. We—er—wanted to give you some time alone.”
Mrs. Ivanov exhaled. “I suppose that instinct was not entirely unwarranted. Though I would prefer it to not have guests rummaging through his things.”
“I was hoping I could find a clue,” Cora said. “I feel guilty that—”
“You didn’t perform the task I’d asked you to do?” Mrs. Ivanov said abruptly, and Cora stiffened.
“I wanted you to discover who was going to kill him,” she said. “Now that the deed is done, it hardly matters, does it?”
“But justice—”
“Balderdash,” Mrs. Ivanov said, and Cora blinked. “I don’t care about that. It’s too late.”
“But surely you must desire to see the person punished?”
“I do and that person is currently sitting at the police station.” Mrs. Ivanov sighed. “I did ask you to observe the other guests, not the servants. Perhaps I was overhasty at criticizing you.”
“But perhaps Mr. Mitu is innocent...”
“Then the murderer is one of my friends, perhaps one of my relatives.” She inhaled sharply. “I-I can’t lose more people. I hope you understand that.”
Cora nodded slowly. She couldn’t imagine preferring to not know the murderer’s identity. But how would it be to discover that someone close to one had murdered someone one cared about? It would change everything, and perhaps Mrs. Ivanov simply didn’t desire more change.
Cora ascended the stairs to the next floor.
Archibald greeted her when she came into the room and she bent to pet him. Then she opened up a notebook. Now was a time for organization in her amateur investigation.
DINNER PARTY ATTENDEES:
1.) Me
2.) Mrs. Ivanov
3.) Veronica
4.) Mr. Fawcett
5.) Mr. Rosenfeld
6.) Natalia
7.) Mr. Badger
8.) Mrs. Badger
She tapped her hand on the paper. She crossed out her name and Veronica’s. She’d been with Veronica when Mr. Ivanov had been murdered, not that she thought Veronica would have felt compelled to murder him anyway.
Mr. Fawcett, though... He’d been the most obviously defiant person and he did write crime novels. It was an unusual vocation, and she suspected he might have more than the average person’s knowledge of murder methods. He also lived nearby, and out of anyone, he could have most easily tampered with Mrs. Ivanov’s husband’s vehicle. No doubt he stood to inherit from Mrs. Ivanov after she died, now that her new husband was disposed of. Might he intend to do away with Mrs. Ivanov later? Cora shivered and pulled Archibald closer to her.
Mr. Rosenfeld had a less obvious potential motive. Was he perhaps involved with any business dealings with Mr. Ivanov? Perhaps Mr. Ivanov had not belonged to a particular profession, but that didn’t mean he was devoid of hobbies, particularly the sort that might make money.
Natalia, on the other hand, was the victim’s sister. Would Natalia be in the line for the throne if her brother was gone? Or did Bulgaria require its rulers to be male?
Mrs. Badger seemed an unlikely murderer. She was, after all, in love with the victim. Perhaps she’d been humiliated, though, at the man’s rejection. Perhaps Mr. Ivanov had threatened to tell her husband? Perhaps he was even blackmailing her?
Cora sighed. She’d read the letter. It seemed difficult to imagine a woman filled with such adoration stabbing the man in question.
It seemed much more possible to imagine that Mr. Badger, the possibly cuckolded, but definitely humiliated, husband had decided to murder Mr. Ivanov. Perhaps Mr. Badger had tried to quit working for Mrs. Ivanov in an effort to distance him and his wife from Mr. Ivanov, and Mrs. Ivanov’s attempts at placating him had been destructive. That would explain his sullen behavior at the dinner party.
A gong echoed throughout the house, and before long, a knock sounded, and Georgie entered again.
“I suppose you’re here to help me dress?” Cora asked.
“Yes, Miss Clarke.”
“At least it shouldn’t take long,” Cora said.
The maid didn’t ask why. They both knew Cora only had one dress dark enough to be at least somewhat suitable for this evening’s dinner.
Cora was almost going to ask the maid what she thought of the murder of her master, when the door swung open again and
Veronica strolled through. She was carrying various bags with her. “I’ve come with gifts.”
“Indeed?”
Veronica nodded lackadaisically. She opened a bag, rustling the tissue paper.
Cora furrowed her brow. “It’s not my birthday.”
“But someone did die yesterday, which means today is a day for black.” Veronica pulled out a black cashmere scarf. “Here you go, honey.”
Cora stared at the luxurious fabric. “You needn’t have,” Cora said.
“Nonsense. I had fun.” Veronica continued to pull out garments from her bag and fling them onto the bed. “Now you’ll be more appropriate.”
“Well. Thank you. I thought you’d gone back upstairs.”
“Oh, that was only to dissuade Mr. Rosenfeld from suggesting he join me for the shopping excursion. Where were you? I couldn’t find you.”
Cora was silent, not wanting to mention her investigation in front of the maid.
Veronica simply shrugged and continued her chatter. “The place was really quite dull. No Harrods or Selfridges. Still, I thought you wouldn’t be horrified by a slightly provincial look. At least this is near the Channel. One can hope they at least get some of their fashions more quickly from France.”
Cora picked up a black satin dress with puffed sleeves and ran her finger over the soft material. “This is beautiful.”
Veronica beamed. “Fortunately, my taste is excellent.”
Cora bit back a smile. She was grateful for Veronica.
“I also spotted a certain Bulgarian butler wandering the halls,” Veronica said.
“Mr. Mitu!” A smile spread over Cora’s face. Aunt Maggie would be so very happy.
Veronica shrugged. “That may be his name. Personally I would prefer if suspects remained in custody.”
“They must have realized they didn’t have the evidence to hold him.” Cora clapped her hands together. “The man must be so relieved.”
“I’m not convinced he wasn’t the murderer,” Veronica said. “Far better to imagine that than someone on this corridor.”
Cora’s smile wobbled slightly, but she only picked up the evening gown. “Help me into this,” she told the maid. “I’m going to need to visit my aunt.”
Soon, Veronica bade farewell, Cora thanked the maid and then down the steps to the kitchen, Archibald at her heels. Mr. Mitu was there, surrounded by kitchen staff.
Cora’s heart soared.
“I believe I owe you some thanks,” Mr. Mitu said in his kindly voice.
“I only urged the chief inspector to consider every possibility,” she said.
“Well, I am grateful. I wasn’t certain I would ever come back. This isn’t a good time to not be English.”
“Justice prevailed,” Cora said. “Is the chief inspector still here?”
Mr. Mitu shuddered. “He was at the station.” He tilted his head. “Why?”
“No, reason,” Cora said. She had her suspicions on Mr. Badger, but as of now they were only suspicions.
After more chat, the kitchen staff began to bustle about the stove and make the final touches to the meal.
Archibald wagged his tail, sensing the jubilation in the room.
“Oh, you darling boy.” Aunt Maggie reached down and petted him. She gazed coyly at Mr. Mitu and then returned her attention to the dog. “I think I’m going to take you on a walk.”
Archibald wagged his tail with greater ferocity.
“Would you care to join me, Mr. Mitu?” Aunt Maggie asked.
“That sounds splendid,” Mr. Mitu said.
Cora smiled and returned to the main floor. Her steps felt light despite the stairs.
Mr. Badger stood on the landing, and nervousness prickled through Cora. She wished that she hadn’t let Archibald remain with her aunt. His presence would be appreciated, even if he resembled a lamb more than a lion.