As soon as we arrived at Parkview, Violet went straight up to her room. Gwen was about to follow her, but I caught her arm. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yes, I’m sure there’s more to tell.” Gwen glanced up the now empty stairs and sighed. “Violet is going to be in her withdrawn mood, and I won’t be able to get a thing out of her. Let’s go through to the conservatory. No one will be in there right now.”
The conservatory ran along the back of the house. High-ceiled and lined with soaring windows, it was a mass of glass and greenery. The sun was below the trees, and the room glowed with a rosy light. Our footsteps clicked across the black and white marble floor as we made our way through the plants. Urns with trailing ivy lined one side of the room, and the floor was a maze of wide-leafed exotic plants. The air was sultry and heavy with the scent of flowers.
I knew that if I let Gwen get started on her questions, it would take forever to answer them all, so I asked, “Why did you go to Alfred’s flat?”
Gwen pushed the wide leaves of a banana tree out of the way, and we emerged into a cleared space in the middle of the room with an arrangement of wicker furniture. “What do you mean? I—I didn’t go to his flat.”
“Oh, Gwen. You’re a terrible liar,” I said. Any doubts I’d had about the hall porter’s memory evaporated at Gwen’s attempt to lie. Why would she lie unless she had something to cover up? “Don’t even try. I know you went there.”
Despite us being alone in the cavernous room, Gwen lowered her voice. “How did you find out? I was so careful.”
“I showed the hall porter a picture of you and Violet, thinking that Violet might have visited Alfred at his flat. But the hall porter pointed out that it was you, not Violet, who he’d seen in the building.”
Gwen reached up and smoothed a stray hair behind her ear, and I noticed the scratch on her hand was nearly healed. “I didn’t want to go, and I knew Mum would be scandalized, so I told Mum I was shopping.”
“But why did you go?”
She raised her chin and met my gaze. “I went to buy him off.”
“You offered Alfred money in exchange for leaving Violet alone?” I asked. “Gwen, how underhanded of you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She smiled briefly, then looked away. “It was terribly wrong, but I knew he wasn’t an honorable man. I couldn’t prove it. And Mum was dithering about hiring a detective. I decided approaching Alfred on my own would be the easiest way.”
“What did you offer?”
“Passage to America, and two hundred pounds once he arrived there.”
“Golly. He turned you down?”
“Didn’t even hesitate. I was shocked. I was so sure he would jump at the money. It makes sense now, knowing about his little deception with Sebastian.”
“He’d already tried his luck in America,” I said. “He was doing much better here.”
Gwen sighed. “I suppose I should’ve offered him more. But it was all I could manage out of the estate account without asking Father for more funds. I knew Father wouldn’t approve. He’s always held that Peter, Violet, and I must work out our problems ourselves. I’m not sorry I did it, though. Of course, I feel horrible for Violet. I know this is a ghastly time for her, and Alfred’s death is tragic, but she will get over it. She’ll be so much better off without him.” A maid arrived, said the cook had a question about the menus for the next day, and Gwen went off to handle it.
I sat in the chair for a long time after she left. The room became gloomy as the sun set, and I wondered how far Gwen would go to protect her sister.
The next morning, seated across from Gwen at the breakfast table, I decided my suspicions were completely ridiculous. With the bright sunlight from the window behind her creating a halo of her golden hair, Gwen was the epitome of delicate beauty. I’d known her my whole life. She loved Violet fiercely, but Gwen wouldn’t resort to murder—not even to protect her little sister.
But what if it was an accident? The thought whispered through my mind. Perhaps she didn’t mean to do it. Had Gwen approached Alfred again? Had she gone upstairs during the party, perhaps to keep an eye on Violet and Alfred during the romantic fireworks, but found Alfred alone on the balcony and made a second attempt to get Alfred out of Violet’s life? Perhaps he’d refused again and grown belligerent. Jane and Violet had said that Alfred had been hostile earlier in the evening. What if that anger had spilled over and he threatened Gwen physically—had she really cut her hand on a broken glass? If she and Alfred struggled on the balcony . . .
I gave myself a little mental shake and focused on my breakfast. I tried to push that scenario out of my mind, but it wouldn’t go away. Gwen was reading a letter. As soon as she refolded the letter, I decided it was no good—I had to ask.
We were alone in the breakfast room. “Did you ever . . . renew your offer to Alfred?”
“Hmm?” Gwen’s attention was still fixed on the letter as she replaced it in the envelope and put it beside her plate.
“Did you try to buy off Alfred again during Sebastian’s party?”
Gwen’s gaze flew from the letter to me. “No. Why do you ask that?”
“I only wondered . . . did it come up again?”
“No. He was quite firm when he turned it down the first time. I knew it would be useless to try again.”
The butler appeared and said there was a telephone call for Violet, but she hadn’t come down from her room.
“I’ll take it,” Gwen said and left the room.
I put down my cutlery, not hungry anymore. After weeks of getting by on dry rolls and watery tea while longing for filling food, part of me couldn’t believe I was leaving food on my plate, but suspecting Gwen turned my stomach. Aunt Caroline came in, said good morning, then went to the sideboard.
Gwen returned to the breakfast table and picked up her letter. “That was Sebastian. He’s invited us to Archly Manor for a few days. He’s having a . . . um . . . gathering to commemorate Alfred’s life. A memorial, he called it.”
Aunt Caroline turned, her plate in hand. “A memorial? But has there been a funeral?”
“It’s to be today at Finchbury Crossing. A private ceremony with only Sebastian and Thea in attendance. Then Alfred will be buried in the churchyard.”
“I don’t think there’s any need for you girls to go,” Aunt Caroline said as she turned back to the sideboard. “A memorial instead of a funeral! I like to think of myself as progressive, not bound by tradition, but certain things are required. It’s ill bred to—to—dispense with them.”
“There is going to be a funeral today, Mum. A private ceremony.”
Aunt Caroline sniffed. “Not a proper funeral. Holding a ‘memorial’ as if this Alfred weren’t a bounder of the first order.” The night before, I’d told Aunt Caroline everything we’d discovered about Alfred.
“Such bad manners people have today.” Aunt Caroline sat down at the table. “Imagine holding a funeral but not inviting anyone. Ridiculous! As I said, you have no obligation to attend a so-called funeral.”
“Memorial.” Violet stood in the doorway in a powder blue dressing gown, her curls flattened to her head. “I’m going. I don’t care what you say. He was my fiancé.”
“Yes, that’s true, darling, but you have no obligation to him now,” Aunt Caroline said.
“I should be there. I’m going.” Violet looked at Gwen. “Are you coming? Or should I arrange for Ross to take me to Archly Manor?”
Gwen, Aunt Caroline, and I exchanged glances, then Gwen said, “I’ll take you, and Olive can come along if she’d like. We can leave after lunch.”