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I dashed into the hallway and nearly crashed into Aunt Butty. We stared at each other a moment. Her hair was up in rags, covered with a silk scarf, and her face was smeared with cold cream. She wore pajamas similar to my own but had managed to throw on feather-tufted mules and a robe whilst I remained barefoot and robe-less.
“You heard that?” I asked.
“Of course. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“It came from downstairs.” Chaz appeared from his room in striped bottoms and a satin smoking jacket.
The three of us charged down the stairs even as other doors opened, and heads popped out. I could hear questioning voices above, but I ignored them, focused on finding the source of the scream.
The marble floor was ice cold against my bare feet as I ran across the foyer and down the hall. The study door stood open for once, light spilling into the hall. A dark figure stood in the doorway, small, angular.
“Maddie? What are you doing here?” I came to a stop beside her and stared into the room.
Sprawled across the rug next to the fire was a man in a cheap, beige suit. Next to him lay a bowler hat as if it had been knocked off his head, perhaps in the midst of a struggle. A knife protruded from the middle of his back and around the knife spread a dark stain.
I turned Maddie to face me. “Don’t tell anyone anything. Do you understand?” She stared at me blankly and I gave her a little shake. “Don’t speak to anyone but me. This is important, Maddie. Do you understand?”
The urgency in my voice must have gotten to her because she finally nodded. Satisfied, I thrust her at Aunt Butty, and entered the study to kneel beside the body. I reached out and placed my fingers on his neck.
“Should you be doing that?” Chaz asked from the doorway.
“Who else?” At least I had some training in the matter. During the Great War I’d spent some time working as a nurse. Granted, I’d been very junior and had mostly emptied bedpans and cleaned ghastly messes, but I knew a few things about dealing with wounds. And finding pulses. The man on the floor had none.
“Who is he?” Chaz asked, moving closer. “He can’t be a guest. Look at that suit. Appalling.”
He was right. The cheap wool was scratchy and the cut ill-fitting as if it had been made for a larger man. Plus, the hair—thinning and mousy—was in dire need of a trim. He wasn’t anyone from the house party.
I knew I shouldn’t touch the body any more than I had to, but curiosity got to me. I carefully turned the man’s head, so I could see his face. Even though I’d have expected it, I must have started because Chaz knelt next to me and asked in a low voice, “You recognize him?”
I nodded. “I’ll explain later.” I turned the dead man’s head back into position and climbed to my feet.
A cursory glance around the study revealed nothing out of order, but I didn’t have time to investigate properly. More guests had arrived, and voices were shouting in the hall as everyone jostled to see into the room. Harry appeared in the doorway.
“What the deuce is going on?” he all but bellowed.
“I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation,” Chaz said calmly, rising to his feet and nodding toward the body.
Harry blanched. “Good god!” He turned and yelled down the hall, “Jarvis! Ring the constabulary!”
“Of course, sir,” came Jarvis’s voice, as unruffled as ever.
“We should preserve the crime scene for the police,” I said quietly as Chaz and I exited the study.
“Is he dead?” Harry asked.
“Afraid so,” I replied. “No pulse. And there’s a knife through his back.”
“Good god,” he repeated. His face was ghostly white, and he looked like he might fall over.
“We need to get these people out of here,” Chaz said, gripping Harry’s arm. “Can’t have them in the way. Can you imagine what the ladies will do if they see a body?”
I decided to ignore his denigration against my sex. Instead I focused on searching out Aunty Butty while Chaz and Harry took over, ushering the guests back to bed and closing up the study for the arrival of Detective Inspector Willis.
I noticed Aunt Butty at the top of the stairs. She pointed to her room and disappeared, so I murmured my excuses to Harry, who ignored me, and hurried up to join her.
Maddie was huddled in an armchair next to the fire, unlit on the warm summer night. Aunt Butty sloshed brown liquid into a glass and thrust it at Maddie. “Drink this.”
“I-I d-don’t drink,” Maddie protested. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
“Tonight, you do,” Aunt Butty said firmly, practically forcing the stuff down her throat before tossing some of it back herself. She thrust the bottle to me and I took a heavy swig. The whiskey burned its way down my throat to pool warmly in my belly.
Once Maddie had calmed, I perched on a stool next to her. “Maddie,” I said softly, “can you tell me what happened?”
“I was going to return a book I borrowed from the library,” she explained, holding up a paperback still clutched tightly in her hand. “So I slipped downstairs after everyone had gone.”
“Go on,” I encouraged her.
“When I got downstairs, I noticed the light on in the study. I thought maybe Mr. deVane was working late. I was about to turn back when I heard something.”
“Heard what?” Aunt Butty asked sharply, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Sounded...like a gurgle?” Maddie frowned.
Maybe the sound of a dying man? “Then what?” I asked.
“Then there was a thud like something fell. And I worried...Mr. deVane is a bit old, ain’t he? Maybe he had a fall.”
“Old?” Aunt Butty muttered. “I never—”
I hushed her, eager to hear what Maddie had to say next. “So, you decided to help?”
“Yes, m’lady. I pushed the door open all the way. I didn’t see Mr. deVane, but I did see that man. He was lying there...and the blood...I think I screamed.”
“You did. Rather loudly,” Aunt Butty said dryly.
“Sorry, Lady Butty. It did take me for a turn, it did,” Maddie said contritely.
For once I didn’t bother to correct her form of address. “Did you touch anything?”
“Not a thing, m’lady. I remembered as you once said a crime scene ain’t to be touched. And, o’ course, that Hercoolees person won’t let nobody touch his bodies.”
I was fairly certain “that Hercoolees person” was a reference to Agatha Christie’s fictional detective, Hercule Poirot. She’d definitely been filching from my library again.
“You did very well, Maddie,” I assured her. A thought occurred. “How much time passed between when you saw the body and when you screamed?”
“Oh, right away, m’lady. I was ever so shocked.”
I nodded. So, she must have found the body literally moments after the man was killed. “Did you see anyone else in the room? Anyone at all?”
She shook her head. “No, m’lady.”
“Curtains moving?”
“No, m’lady. They was open.”
And I hadn’t noticed any open windows. No way for a killer to escape other than out the door. “No one walked past you in the hall?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I would have seen them.”
Damnation. This wasn’t looking good for Maddie.
“Alright, Maddie, the police will be here soon, and they’ll want to question you.”
Her eyes widened. “Why, m’lady? I didn’t do nothin’.”
“Because you’re the one that found the body. Only tell them what you told me, nothing more. Do you understand?”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
“Good. Now go to the kitchen and have the cook make up tea for everyone, including the police. I think it’s going to be a rather long night.”
She nodded again and scampered from the room. I took her spot in the armchair and liberated the bottle of hooch from Aunt Butty’s grasp. I took a long swig and let out a gusty sigh.
“You know something,” Aunt Butty said in a rather accusing tone, I thought.
“Not much. But I know who the dead man is.”
Her eyes widened. “Who?”
I passed her back the bottle. “I went to the church fete this afternoon and saw a man sneaking about. He looked...I don’t know. Out of place. Not to mention he was wearing a bowler hat just like the man who was sneaking around the grounds the other night. So I followed him into the church and saw him in conversation with Binky.”
“Binky? In a church?”
“I know. It was odd. They were behaving strangely, like they didn’t want anyone to see them talking. I think they were up to something.”
“Something nefarious?” she asked with undue excitement.
“Perhaps. I don’t know, but when I asked Binky about it, he lied to me. Told me he hadn’t talked to anyone.”
“And what does all that have to do with the body currently residing in Harry’s study?”
I leaned back. “Because the body in Harry’s study is the man I saw with Binky.”
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UNFORTUNATELY, I DIDN’T have a chance to confront Binky about the dead man. The minute Willis arrived, he demanded to know who found the body. Naturally, everyone pointed to poor Maddie.
I tried to intervene, but it didn’t do a bit of good. After barely listening to her statement, Willis put Maddie under arrest for murder, cuffed her, and sent her off to the police station with Constable Smith.
I did manage to grab a few seconds with her as she was frog-marched to the vehicle. “Remember what I said, Maddie. Don’t tell anyone anything. Just ask for a solicitor.”
“Can’t afford no solicitor.”
“But I can. And I will get you the best. I promise. We’re going to sort this out.”
And then she was gone, the police car racing down the drive and out of sight, spitting gravel in its wake.
“Well, did she listen?” Aunt Butty asked.
“I hope so. I swear, I’ve never wanted to punch anyone so badly as I want to punch Willis right now.”
Aunt Butty gave me a smile reminiscent of a shark. “Don’t worry, dear. With a man like that, there are punishments far worse than physical violence.”
She had a point. “You mean abject humiliation.”
“Indeed.”
I lifted a brow. “What did you have in mind?”
“Can you imagine his reaction should the papers reveal it was a pair of women who solved this crime and freed an innocent maid from prison?”
“Oh, Aunt Butty, you are devious.”
“Occasionally,” she said with equanimity. “Now let’s get dressed, go find that codswallop of a cousin of yours, and get some answers out of him.”
That was easier said than done. We scoured the house, but Binky was nowhere to be found. We expanded our search to the grounds, and finally discovered him hiding out in the folly.
The folly of Wit’s End had no doubt been built sometime in the Victorian era. It was tucked back in the woods near a small pond and had the oddest distinction of being a perfectly normal round tower, but with a pineapple on top.
“I’m afraid whoever built this folly had eaten too many mushrooms,” Aunt Butty murmured as we approached.
“Mushrooms?” I asked.
“Never mind, dear,” she said demurely, adjusting her floppy straw hat. It was beribboned and festooned with numerous plumes, making her look like a startled bird.
I always wondered about some of Aunt Butty’s escapades. But I shrugged it off. I had other things to focus on.
We trudged up the path and pushed through the door into the folly. There was a single, round room with small slits for windows and a bare, stone floor. Around the room were curved benches and on one of those benches sat Binky, looking terribly forlorn.
“What ho, Binky?” I said chummily.
“Oh, lord, it’s you,” he groaned.
“You could sound more enthusiastic,” I said, plopping on the seat next to him and hoping I wouldn’t get smudges all over my lavender dress.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I really couldn’t.”
“Binky, we need to have a talk.” Aunt Butty’s tone brooked no argument. She spoke to him exactly as a schoolmistress might speak to a naughty child. Binky responded accordingly, sinking low and tucking his head in like a turtle.
“Wasn’t me,” he said.
“So, you do know about the murder,” I said.
He shrugged. “What of it?”
“The dead man in the study is the same man I saw you speaking to at the fete.”
“I wasn’t speaking to anyone at the fete,” he lied, badly.
“Rubbish,” Aunt Butty barked. “You were seen. No sense lying about it. Only fools lie about such things. Now who is that man and why is he dead in Harry’s study?”
He pressed his lips together. Stubborn man.
“An innocent girl has just been hauled off to jail. If you don’t speak up, I shall ensure that you never get another invite anywhere of interest.” Aunt Butty glared fiercely at Binky who wilted beneath her gaze.
“Fine, fine. I did speak to that man at the fete, but it was nothing. Just...one of those things. He asked for the time and whatnot. It was nothing.”
“You’re lying!” I accused.
“Prove it!” He jumped up and stormed out.
“Well,” said Aunt Butty, taking his seat. “That went well.”
“I was wrong. I want to punch him far more than I want to punch Willis. How am I ever going to get Maddie out of jail if Binky won’t tell us the truth?”
“We’ll think of something, dear. We always do.” Aunt Butty patted my knee.
It was true. We always did. But would we think of it before poor Maddie was convicted and hanged for murder?