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“FOR AN ARTIST YOU ARE revoltingly scandal free,” Mr. Ardingley said, addressing Lady Audrey. “You just had the misfortunate luck to accept my little brother’s invitation to come here for Christmas.”
Lady Audrey glanced out the window. “Well, I was right that it would be pretty at least.”
“I know why Father hired a detective,” Mr. Ardingley announced.
“Indeed?” Edmund asked.
“He’s been complaining about your rash elopement for months. I suspect he put a private detective on your new wife. Miss Clarke did say she saw him in America.”
Veronica’s face became stony.
“Was your new wife too racy for Father, brother dear?” Mr. Ardingley’s eyes sparkled.
Edmund’s face pinkened. “That can’t be the reason. Veronica is—er—positively angelic.”
“You’re not going to tell me that she was a virgin.” Mr. Ardingley laughed again and downed the amber-colored liquid in his crystal tumbler. He marched to the bar.
Mrs. Ardingley pursed her lips. “Considering that it’s morning, I think you’ve had enough. Otherwise you won’t remember anything.”
“And why would that be dreadful?” Mr. Ardingley swung around, and his eyes blazed with a strange ferocity. “My father died. Why on earth would I want to linger on that memory?”
“Calm down,” Edmund said. “It was just an accident.”
“Oh, you’re in denial.” Mr. Ardingley flung up his hands. “It’s murder.”
“Because a former starlet says so? Someone who played a detective for the silver screen?” Mrs. Ardingley lifted her eyebrow to a lofty level. Walking might pose difficulties for her, but she obviously excelled in eyebrow movement. “I would hardly take her opinion seriously, Rhys dear. I’m not even sure Miss Clarke finished high school.”
“I did!” Cora exclaimed.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Ardingley’s eyebrow did not move downward.
“Yes,” Cora stammered. “With—er—tutors.”
Mrs. Ardingley gave a smug smile. “Hardly the same thing though.”
“Let’s find out what your wife did,” Mr. Ardingley said. “Or just tell us now, Veronica.”
Veronica’s face whitened, but she only laughed. “Obviously it was nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Mr. Ardingley said. “I’m not in the mood.”
Edmund moved to his feet. “Come, Rhys. We know your mood doesn’t extend to anything nonalcoholic now.”
Mr. Ardingley frowned. He picked up his newly refilled glass and flung it onto the ground. It shattered into many pieces, and the scent of whisky permeated the room.
“Happy, brother?” Mr. Ardingley drawled. He turned to the others. “Shall we go to the library? I know where Father stores his files.”
“Stored,” Edmund said.
Mr. Ardingley flushed. “Er—yes.”
“Let’s go read them,” Mr. Ardingley said. “Perhaps your wife has a crime record.”
“I don’t have a crime record,” Veronica insisted. “Anything in there would be lies!”
“I think you’re lying,” Mr. Ardingley said.
“Well, not a current one. Not as an adult.”
“You’ve only been an adult for two years,” Mr. Ardingley pointed out. “Two years without a record is hardly a great occasion for celebration.”
Veronica’s smile wobbled. “Perhaps I should have some of that whisky, Rhys.”
“No one is drinking anymore,” Edmund said sternly. “Perhaps Father was hoping to find something. But that didn’t mean he did. And now it doesn’t matter, because he’s dead.”
Veronica smiled. “Thank you, dear.”
“Perhaps you murdered him,” suggested the dowager duchess.
“Mother!” Edmund widened his eyes. “Please don’t accuse my new wife.”
“I heard what your father had found out about her,” the dowager duchess said. “He wanted to expose her.”
“Expose what?” Mr. Ardingley said.
The dowager shrugged. “Oh, just that she lived on the streets for a while. When she was twelve. And eleven. And I believe also when she was ten. Three years in total. Who knows what could have happened then? Not the proper background for a duchess.”
Veronica gritted her teeth together. “That’s a lie.”
“I don’t think so, dear. I read the reports too.”
“But—” Mr. Ardingley stammered. “How—? Why—?”
“Well, I imagine she had no choice,” said the dowager. “That is what happens if you’re homeless. As for how... I believe it involved some singing on the streets. Some dancing. Quite indecent.”
“It wasn’t three whole years,” Veronica said slowly. “And I had a roof over my head—mostly. And I worked. I entertained people.”
The dowager duchess shrugged. “Clearly your life has improved. Though I think it would be good to destroy whatever documents Horace had. You might want to also see if you can pay off that inspector. I’ve never much cared for scandals, and I really don’t have the patience for them at my advanced age.”
“But how did you manage to recover from that period?” Lady Audrey asked.
“It’s not important,” Edmund said quickly.
“But it’s impressive,” Mrs. Ardingley said. “I must admit to being curious too.”
Edmund raked his hand through his hair. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“I entered a beauty queen competition,” Veronica said. “First prize was a screen test for Hollywood. And I won. That’s all. Utterly uninteresting.”
“And the criminal record?”
“Was for stealing clothes from a local department store,” the dowager duchess said.
“It worked,” Veronica said. “I had to look nice and I did.”
“That’s amazing,” Cora breathed.
The others seemed similarly awed.
Veronica shrugged. “It was the start of this dreadful depression. You had to do what you had to do.”
“Still. It’s a motive for murder. Father wanted to destroy you for having the gall to marry into the family,” Mr. Ardingley said. “I imagine the new duchess wouldn’t want that sort of thing to get out.”
The mood was broken.
“I thought we were friends, Rhys,” Veronica said.
Rhys folded his arms across his chest. “My father died. And apparently somebody killed him. That matters to me.”
“I didn’t do it,” Veronica said softly.
“Where were you when he died?” Mr. Ardingley asked.
“In my room.”
“Did anyone see you?”
Veronica shook her head.
“I think the police are likely to see you as the most likely suspect too.”
“But I didn’t—”
“So you said.” Mr. Ardingley rose and left the room.
“I’ll follow him,” Mrs. Ardingley moved her hands to her wheelchair.
“I’ll send a footman to assist you up the stairs,” Wexley said.
Mrs. Ardingley nodded gratefully.
Murmurs of excuses to go drifted through the room, and it soon emptied.
Cora swallowed hard. If only she hadn’t informed everybody of her suspicions that the duke had been murdered. Now her dearest friend was in trouble, and it was all her fault.
She reminded herself that the police would sort everything out. Perhaps the village constable didn’t exude competence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t solve the case.
Except he’d likely never had to investigate a murder. The village didn’t seem large enough to have them often.
And he’s not even here.
Perhaps Cora could discover who the murderer was herself. She would need to speak with Edmund. He knew everyone more than Veronica did, and perhaps she would be able to discover other motives.
They needed to speak in private.
Cora found Edmund in the drawing room with Lady Audrey.
“I believe the snow has finished, Edmund,” Cora said. “Would you perhaps show me around outside?”
Edmund blinked.
“I mean, there’s nothing else to do now.”
He sighed. “Shakespeare is not that interesting? I suppose I could show you the barn. We have some skis and snowshoes there.”
“Splendid,” Cora said.
She was not going to spend the day inside, not when there was a chance she could help Veronica and make sure the duke’s murderer would not remain free.
“Would you like me to join you?” Lady Audrey asked. “Edmund is not the best skier.”
“No need,” Cora said quickly.
“Well, do enjoy yourselves.”
Cora followed Edmund to the foyer, and a footman brought them winter garments.