Later Saturday Morning, September 18, 1937
Heatherwick
I went down to the morning room and found a delicious assortment of sausages, eggs, bacon, toast, black pudding, tomatoes, mushrooms, hot American coffee, and tea. Verbina was there, seated at the table, white linen napkin in her lap and a cup of black coffee before her.
“Good morning, Heath,” she said.
“Auntie, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you had a breakfast tray sent up to your room.”
“Oh I did, and it was lovely and decadent, but they brought me tea, and I just really wanted coffee. I didn’t have the heart to say anything.”
“Ah, I see. Well, let me get a plate and I’ll join you. Frankly I’m glad for the company. I’ve had a morning already.”
“Goodness, do tell. I’m intrigued.”
I filled up a plate and a cup and took a seat, recounting for her the details of the upstairs portrait gallery and the slashed painting of Charlotte, my experience in the playroom, the disfigured dolls, and how the doll fell off the shelf and saved me from almost being discovered hiding behind the puppet theater. When I had finished, Verbina looked surprisingly cross.
“Honestly, Heath, what would have happened had you been caught nosing about in the attic? It would have been most embarrassing. And grilling the servants like that, good heavens. We’re Simon’s guests, and we must respect his wishes and his home. Your actions reflect on me, too, you know, for better or worse. I told you before none of this is our concern.”
It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting from her, and I instantly knew she was right, but I was still glad I did it. “Of course you’re spot on, Auntie, you always seem to be. I’m sorry, I guess curiosity got the best of me.”
“You should be sorry. I’m surprised at you, dear. This is not our business.”
“I know, it’s just that there are so many questions.”
“The only question I want answered is if there is any more coffee,” she said, putting her empty cup back on its saucer.
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I took the last of it. I don’t think they expected you to be down, so they probably only made enough for two cups. I’ll ring for some more.” I pressed the call button on the wall, then took my seat again next to her.
“Thank you. I find I need at least two cups in the morning to get me going, the stronger and blacker the better,” she said.
“I’m the same way. It must run in the family. Dr. Feldmeyer drank coffee, as I recall, even at dinner.”
“That psychiatrist from the ship? Well, he was an American, too, you know. We Americans are fond of our coffee.”
“Yes, we certainly are. I was thinking of him earlier, about what he had said—”
Wigglesworth entered from the pantry, which also serviced the dining room, before I could finish my thought. “You rang, sir, madam?”
“We seem to be out of coffee,” I said.
“My apologies, Mr. Barrington. I’ll bring some back momentarily.”
“Very good,” I said, resisting my natural urge to say “thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” When he had gone, I looked at Verbina once more and sighed, my earlier thought forgotten. “I’ve thought it several times this trip, but I truly could get used to living like this, Auntie,” I said, leaning back, having finished most of my breakfast.
“The finer things in life never take long to get used to, and I hope you’ll have many opportunities to enjoy them. You and Simon were up rather late last night, yes?”
“I guess. We had a long talk about this supposed Quimby curse, his father’s death, his cousin, his sister, even Wigglesworth.”
“It’s nice he feels comfortable enough with you to talk of such private matters.”
“Yes, it took some doing, but he finally opened up. And by the way, you’ll be happy to know I slept in pajamas last night. Simon loaned me a pair of his.”
Verbina raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “How interesting. Did you sleep in your own room?”
“Of course I did. Where else would I sleep?”
“How—”
She was interrupted by the return of Wigglesworth with a silver coffee pot, filled to the top. He poured a fresh cup for each of us, then set the pot on the sideboard. “Will there be anything else at the moment?” he said, looking at each of us in turn.
I looked at Verbina, but she shook her head. “No, that will be all,” I said, and then, perhaps because I didn’t want Verbina to continue with the topic of Simon’s pajamas, I said, “You’ve worked for the Quimbys a long time, haven’t you, Wigglesworth?”
“Yes, sir, since I was fifteen, Mr. Barrington. I started as a hall boy and worked my way up to footman, underbutler, and finally butler.”
“But there are no hall boys, footmen, or underbutlers working here now,” I said.
“That’s correct, sir. I’m afraid the house isn’t what it once was, but then, nothing is, I suppose. The family stopped employing hall boys and footmen several years ago. And Sir Lionel’s father was the last to have a valet, though I have acted unofficially in that capacity along with my other duties for both him and Sir Simon. It was a different house when the Baroness was alive. She was a kind woman, lovely and charming. It was tragic when she died. Things changed. And then Sir Lionel’s murder…”
“I understand you were the one that found Sir Lionel that night.”
“Heath, I don’t think—” Verbina started to say.
“I’m just curious, Wigglesworth. Simon said I should ask you about it,” which was a lie. I wondered what had gotten into me lately.
“Did he, sir? How curious.”
“I asked him about it, but I think the memories were too painful, so he suggested I ask you. Do you remember that evening?” I said, pressing.
He looked uncomfortable, but finally he said, “Yes, sir, if that’s what Lord Quimby wishes. It’s a night I shall never forget. It was July twelfth, a warm evening, a tad muggy even.”
“And Mr. Walter Wittenham and his wife were spending the night, along with their baby, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. Sir Lionel was fond of Mr. Wittenham and was anxious to see the baby, Cedric, who was just a little over a year old at that time.”
“And I understand Simon and his father had had a disagreement that night before dinner,” I said.
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
“You couldn’t or you won’t?”
“It is my job, Mr. Barrington, to be discreet when it comes to private matters, and to never say what I think unless asked directly by my employer, sir.”
“All right, fair enough. But it is true that at dinner Sir Lionel told Mr. Wittenham and everyone else that he had changed his will that day to give everything to him instead of Sir Simon,” I said. “Simon mentioned that, but he said it was a joke.”
“Mr. Wittenham seemed to believe it, sir.”
“Possibly. So, what happened after dinner?”
“Dinner ended just after nine. I brought Sir Lionel a peppermint tea right after dessert, as he suffered from indigestion.”
“Sir Lionel asked for the tea?”
Wigglesworth’s expression changed ever so slightly. “Well, no, sir, but he had frequent digestive problems, so I just assumed he’d want some, and I was correct. A good butler must anticipate the needs of his master.”
“I suppose so. What then?” I said.
“Mrs. Devlin came in to help with clearing the dessert. Lady Charlotte excused herself to go to her room and get some aspirin because she had a headache. Sir Lionel finished his tea and said he was going up to his room to get a bromide. Mr. Wittenham went outside for some air and a cigarette, and Mrs. Wittenham went up to the nursery to check on the child. Sir Simon, by his own account, went to his room to get a gramophone record he was anxious for everyone to hear, ‘Goody, Goody,’ by the Benny Goodman orchestra. A most unusual name for a musical selection, I must say.”
I smiled. “It’s a catchy tune.”
“Indeed it must be, sir.”
“What then?”
“Before Sir Lionel went up, he asked me to serve mulled wine in the drawing room, so I went downstairs to the kitchen to prepare it.”
“How long did that take you?” I said.
“Actually, while I was down in the kitchen, a call came from Lady Charlotte’s bedroom. Mrs. Devlin usually attends to her, but she’d just gone up to her room in the attic to get her kidney pills, so I answered the call. Surprisingly, Sir Simon was the one who opened her door. He told me Lady Charlotte was in the bathroom, and he had pressed the button by mistake. He didn’t seem quite himself. He was out of breath and nervous, but it’s not my place to question, sir.”
“How interesting,” I said.
“I also noticed, sir, that there was a roaring fire going in her fireplace, along with the smell of something odd burning.”
“But you said it was a warm night,” I said.
“Yes, sir. I found that and the odor peculiar, but again, not my place to question, sir.”
“So, then what?”
“I went back downstairs. Strangely I ran into Mrs. Devlin in the upstairs hall.”
“But you said she had gone to the attic for her pills. Why was it strange to run into her?”
“Because there was no need for her to be there, you see. The servant stairs go from the basement to the attic. She had no reason to stop on the family bedroom floor. Servants must, above all else, be unobtrusive, unnoticed, and never be where we shouldn’t be, sir.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“I did, sir. She told me she was coming to check on Lady Charlotte as she was concerned about her having the headache, but I told her I’d just come from her room and that Sir Simon was with her. We both returned to the kitchen together.”
“Curious.”
“It did seem odd to me, but then Mrs. Devlin can be an odd woman.”
“So, you brought up the mulled wine,” I said.
“That’s right. I was the first one to the drawing room. Mrs. Wittenham arrived just after me, looking a bit distressed. It seems young Cedric was not behaving for the nanny. Mr. Wittenham came in shortly after, complaining about the heat of the night and the humidity, and I noticed he was perspiring. Sir Simon and Lady Charlotte came in together. Sir Simon, still in his green jacket and trousers, had the gramophone record under his arm, and Lady Charlotte, in a yellow dress with daisies on it, took a seat in the chair by the window while Simon put the record on the gramophone player. Sir Simon seemed agitated, and Lady Charlotte looked tired. It was nine thirty by that point, and I asked Sir Simon if he would like me to serve the mulled wine or wait for his father.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to serve and then go check on Sir Lionel if he hadn’t come in by the time I was finished.”
“And he didn’t come in.”
“No, sir. I went upstairs to his room at about a quarter of ten to see what was delaying him and if I could be of assistance. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so I entered and saw him in bed, fully dressed, his shirt blood soaked, his cold eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. He was dead, I knew it instantly.”
“He was fully dressed in his bed?”
“Yes. I can’t explain it unless he was just having a lie-down, but that seems unusual for that time of evening. The others were still expecting him in the drawing room. He even had his shoes on, and I have never known Sir Lionel to lie down in his bed with his shoes on. His trousers were also undone, probably because of his indigestion. The windows were open, too, although it was a warm night, as I mentioned, so that in itself wasn’t all that out of the ordinary.”
“Extraordinary, the whole thing,” I said. My mind was whirling.
“I should say so, sir. I immediately phoned for the inspector constable from Lord Quimby’s telephone in his room, and then returned to the drawing room to break the news to the others.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I asked to speak to Sir Simon privately, and when he stepped into the corridor with me, I told him something had happened to their father, that he was dead in his room.”
“And what was his reaction?”
“He was shocked, sir. He asked if I was sure, and I assured him I was. I told him it appeared to be foul play and that I had telephoned for the police. He went back into the drawing room to inform the others, then he told me to follow him upstairs to his father’s room. We stayed there together until the constable arrived.”
“I can see why that’s a night you won’t forget,” Verbina said.
“Indeed, madam.”
“Well, thank you, Wigglesworth. Let’s not talk of this with Lord Quimby, though. No need to upset him by bringing up unpleasant memories,” I said. “I think that’s why he wanted you to tell me.” That was a believable lie, I thought.
“Mum’s the word, sir, madam,” he said, and went back into the pantry, the door closing behind him.
“Honestly, Heath. Simon never told you to ask Wigglesworth about that, did he?”
“No, Auntie, not exactly. But I wanted to know –”
“Didn’t I just finish telling you that none of this is our business, and that we’re Simon’s guests? I’m not sure exactly what kind of friendship you and Simon have developed, and I’m not sure I want to know, but I do know he would not tolerate you snooping about, questioning the servants, and prying into his family’s personal matters, no matter how close you two have grown.”
“I know, you’re right,” I said, feeling a tad ashamed. “But what do you make of it all?”
“What I make of it is of no concern to anyone.”
“But you seemed interested in Wigglesworth’s account of the fatal night. You don’t think Simon is a murderer, do you?”
She set her coffee cup down and looked at me with a disapproving gaze. “All right, since you won’t let this go, I’ll just say this. You think you know Simon, but you don’t.”
“So, you do think he’s a murderer?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If I were a betting woman, which I’m not, my money would still be on Walter Wittenham.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he thought at dinner that Sir Lionel had changed his will in a fit of anger at Simon. He probably believed Sir Lionel would regret that decision and change the will back the next day when calmer heads prevailed.”
“But he didn’t really change the will,” I said.
“Yes, but Mr. Wittenham probably believed he had. Even Wigglesworth thought so. After dinner, Sir Lionel told everyone that he was going up to his room to take a bromide. Walter went outside for some air and a smoke. Perhaps he saw Sir Lionel’s open window and the tree beside it. Remember, Mr. Wittenham is a former Olympic athlete. He may have scaled that tree, looked in, saw Sir Lionel, and seized the opportunity to stab him.”
“But there was no sign of a struggle.”
“Oh? Well, perhaps Sir Lionel was in the bathroom when Walter entered. Walter waited outside the door until he came out, then he stabbed him and dragged his body onto the bed. All he had to do then was climb back down and return to the drawing room. Remember, Wigglesworth said Mr. Wittenham was perspiring, which would be only natural after going through all that.”
“Goodness, Auntie, for not wanting to pry into family matters, you’ve certainly given this some thought.”
“You asked, I told you.”
“You certainly did. It could have just as easily been Mrs. Wittenham, though, you know. She had as much to lose as Walter did. Or should I say as much to gain? And she may have been angry with Sir Lionel for pawning her off on Walter to get her away from Simon. I wonder if anyone corroborated her story about going to the nursery with the nanny?”
“Hmm,” Auntie said.
“And what about Mrs. Devlin? Wigglesworth found her on the family bedroom floor that night, and he admitted her being there was strange.”
“Yes, that’s true. I suppose it could have been Mrs. Wittenham or Mrs. Devlin, but stabbing someone is a man’s murder, in my opinion.”
“Don’t be discriminatory, Auntie.”
“Me? Never, but I think a woman would choose a gun or poison.”
“Tell that to Lizzie Borden,” I said.
“She was acquitted. Still, it could have been anyone, I suppose, that killed Lionel Quimby. Even Wigglesworth, when it comes right down to it.”
“I was thinking that, too.”
“But the damning evidence is the bloody handkerchief with Simon’s monogram on it.”
“Yes, found in Sir Lionel’s room. But if you’re right about Mr. Wittenham, perhaps he pilfered the handkerchief before going outside with the idea of using it to frame Simon.”
“That was my thought, also. Walter certainly dislikes Simon, perhaps enough to frame him for murder. And I’m sure Simon has a whole drawer full of monogrammed handkerchiefs. He has probably left them all over the house, so it would have been an easy thing for Mr. Wittenham to obtain.”
“It makes sense,” I said. “Actually any one of them could have pilfered one of his handkerchiefs.”
“I suppose,” Verbina said.
“And what are your thoughts on Lady Charlotte’s death?” I said.
“Suicide—on that I have no doubt. She was distraught over her father’s death and prone to depression. It’s quite logical.”
“Yes, quite logical indeed.”
“But the official verdicts, Heath, were that Sir Lionel’s killer was a burglar and Lady Charlotte died from an accidental poisoning, and I say we leave it at that and drop the whole thing. If you like Simon as much as you say you do, you don’t want to make him angry with you.”
“But nobody seems to believe the official verdicts. Everyone seems to think Simon killed his father and perhaps even his sister. So why would he be angry with me if I could prove to the world that he didn’t?”
“And what if you actually end up proving to the world that he is a murderer?”
“He’s not, I know it. He’ll be overjoyed when I prove his innocence. Maybe he’ll even ask me to stay on here, as his companion or something.”
She seemed to be studying me. “His companion or something. If I didn’t know better, Heath, I’d say you have a schoolboy crush on Simon.”
I felt my cheeks grow red, and I spilled my coffee. I laughed falsely. “What? A crush? Don’t be ridiculous.”
She looked at me sideways. “Oh, I’m just being a silly old woman, don’t mind me. It’s just the way you look at him, little things I’ve noticed. Like a student who admires his teacher, like any young boy admiring someone older.”
“He’s only eight years older than me.”
“True, true.”
“And I’m not a schoolboy anymore, Auntie, as you keep reminding me.”
“Also true. But you still have some growing up to do. Things like this are a passing fancy, a phase so many young men go through.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going through a phase. He’s just a friend, and I admire him.”
“Naturally. I would never say you’re not right, not me. You just need to get out more. Date, flirt, expand your horizons with a few pretty young things.”
“Are you implying my thoughts of Simon are anything but friendly? Do I have something to prove?”
“No, dear. Certainly not to me, anyway. I’m sure it’s all harmless and my imagination.”
“Of course it’s your imagination.”
“It’s just that I’ve had some experience in these things, you know. And I don’t want to see you hurt, by Simon or by the world. I can’t speak for Simon, but the world can be vicious and cruel. You may end up proving something, all right, but it might not be what you want it to be.”
“What kind of experience have you had in these things?”
“That’s not important. What is important is that you tread carefully in matters of the heart, and that you always be discreet and cautious in all things. It’s fine and dandy to want to play house with Simon, the way young men sometimes do, but another thing entirely to live it.”
“I hardly think Simon and I have been playing house, Auntie. We’re just good friends.” How did she know? I felt myself starting to perspire.
“You’ve been playing at something, my dear, both of you, and you can’t fool me, try as you might. And I understand more than you think I do. Remember what I said before—you can trust me with secrets.”
“Perhaps, but we’re not playing house,” I said. “Hmm. Playing house, playing house…”
“What are you on about?” she said, a quizzical look on her face.
“Hmm, what? Oh, I just thought of something, that’s all. I wonder…”
“You’re getting too old for this nonsense, Heath. Simon’s not one of your bohemian friends from school. It’s time to grow up, once and for all.”
“I’m sorry, Auntie, but I need to go, will you excuse me?”
“Where are you off to?”
“To play house.” I got up and gave her a peck on the cheek, then left hurriedly, through the dining room, out into the hall, and up, up to the attic.