Murder by Misunderstanding Read online

  Hazel bristled a bit under the comment. That was exactly how she saw her household staff and wondered if Lady Wakefield would disapprove of her as well for it. Most likely, but at this point, Hazel didn’t care. She was much too busy with her books to get out and socialize much, and after losing Charles, she had no desire to live the high life that many younger socialites enjoyed. Give her a great novel, a good brandy, and a toasty fire, and she was happy.

  “Such a scandal,” Lady Wakefield continued, giving a sullen tsk. “And all over the papers already too. I just hope it doesn’t mar the family name.” She gave her recalcitrant husband a stern look. “We have a guest, dear. Don’t be rude.”

  Lord Wakefield glanced up at Hazel over the top of his newspaper and gave a short grunt by way of acknowledgement then went back to his reading.

  Right then.

  “As I said, so very nice to have you visit us today, Hazel,” Lady Wakefield said, ignoring her husband’s social laziness. “What brings you to Farnsworth Abbey this afternoon?”

  “I wanted to stop by and offer my condolences for your troubles.” She narrowed her gaze on a priceless portrait of one of Lord Wakefield’s illustrious ancestors hanging above the fireplace. Beside it stood busts of the original Lord and Lady Wakefield, and nearby hung the Wakefield family crest. “Shocking as it sounds, I just so happen to be writing a book about someone falling from a third-floor window for my next novel. You wouldn’t think it too morbid of me if I asked to see the room from which Doris fell, would you? For research purposes, of course.”

  Lady Wakefield blanched, quickly moving from behind the desk to take Hazel by the arm and tug her back out into the hallway. Confused, Hazel followed behind her. Had she stepped in it already without realizing it? “I’m so sorry, did I say something amiss?”

  “No, no.” Lady Wakefield glanced back into the drawing room before looking down the bridge of her beaklike nose at Hazel. “It’s just all this is still so disturbing for poor Eugenia. We don’t like to talk about it in front of her. She’s so delicate, you know.”

  “Oh dear. Please forgive me,” Hazel said. “I’m sure it must be awful for all of you, knowing what happened upstairs. What with a young girl like that jumping for no reason.” Hazel shook her head and frowned. “So terribly tragic. And so unexpected. Was there a fight or any indication she might’ve been planning it? Perhaps trouble with another staff member?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t really know.” She pulled Hazel a bit farther away from the drawing room door before continuing. “Though I suspect there might’ve been some trouble amongst the staff, yes. From what the housekeeper told me, Doris seemed sad and out of sorts lately, but everything else was going along, and she was performing her duties adequately, so I let it drop.

  “The night it happened, we’d had a lovely supper too, then my husband retired to his study, and I went to my sewing room, as we often do on Thursday nights. Our rooms are just across the hall from each other in the family’s private wing. I have my sewing table set up so I can see into the mirror on the wall and see into his study. Anyway, I was just finishing a lovely evening shawl when I heard the scream.” She shuddered and looked away. “Would you like to see it? It’s quite beautiful.”

  It took Hazel a moment to realize the woman was talking about the shawl and not the scream. Hoping to get a look at the crime scene, she took Lady Wakefield up on the offer. “Oh, yes, please. I so admire those with excellent needlework skills. I’ve never had the patience for it myself.”

  “It relaxes me, helps take my mind off the problems of running such a large estate and raising a family. What a lovely hat you have on today, by the way.” Lady Wakefield led her deeper into the home, past the enormous state dining room, then the elegant library, then into the family’s private wing and to the study and sewing rooms. She walked around a large oak table and opened a drawer in the mahogany credenza against the wall, pulling out the shawl. Hazel did have to admit it was lovely—pale-pink silk embroidered with delicate roses and edged with long tassels.

  “It’s beautiful. What talent you have with a needle and thread.” Lady Wakefield beamed under the compliments while Hazel’s mind raced, looking for clues about Doris’s death. “I made a small sampler once, when I was a child, but nothing like this.”

  “You flatter me, Hazel.” Lady Wakefield smiled, stroking the fine fabric reverently. “This exquisite silk came all the way from Paris, you know. I was lucky enough to find it at Miss Pinkerton’s shop last Wednesday. I’d timed my visit just right too because they’d just received their weekly delivery by train. The station’s just across the road, and I could even see the train pulling out through the shop window. I was there when Miss Pinkerton opened the box. Otherwise, someone else would have grabbed it, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, that’s very fortuitous indeed,” Hazel said, distracted. She needed to steer this conversation toward Doris again. “I’ve just finished a book earlier today. Did I mention I’m starting a new one about a third-floor jumper?”

  Lady Wakefield’s smile faded, and she refolded the shawl, placing it atop her sewing table before facing Hazel again. “Yes, you mentioned it.”

  “Could I possibly see the turret room now?” she asked, now that they were out of Eugenia’s earshot. “It would help me ever so much with my research.”

  “I don’t know,” Lady Wakefield said, her tone reluctant, and Hazel’s hopes fell. “We don’t normally allow guests up into that part of the house. It’s quite old and musty.”

  But desperate times called for desperate measures.

  “Of course, I’d certainly mention you and your family in my acknowledgments.”

  “Our family name, mentioned in a mystery novel?”

  “Whatever you prefer. My books are becoming quite popular. It would be seen by many people.” Her voice rose slightly over the last few words, playing to the woman’s self-importance.

  “Being named in a novel is quite an accomplishment, from what I’ve been told. Many of the great old families are doing it these days.”

  Lady Wakefield frowned. “I just don’t know. I’m worried enough about our name being associated with such a nasty event. Suicide.” She whispered the word carefully, as if it might taint her. “I’d hate for the scandal to become worse than it already is.”

  “Oh, there’ll be no mention of that in my book, I assure you,” Hazel said, patting the woman’s hand. “After all, we’re not even sure that’s what happened to Doris.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she took her own life,” Lady Wakefield said, her tone shocked. “Whatever else could it be?”

  “Indeed,” Hazel said, walking over to a wall of ribbons and trim, running her fingers over the lace and silk, all neatly color-coded, giving Lady Wakefield a chance to mull things over. “Whatever else could it be?”

  “Well,” she said at last, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything. And a mention in one of your popular books might do wonders for my Eugenia’s marital prospects too.” She moved to the door and leaned out into the hall. “Mrs. Crosby?”

  Soon, a housekeeper arrived, and Lady Wakefield walked the older, grey-haired woman over to Hazel. “Mrs. Crosby, this is Hazel Martin, our guest. Please escort her up to the turret room.”

  “Right this way, ma’am,” Mrs. Crosby said, leading Hazel back through the grand dining room and center of the house and over to the staff wing, into the kitchen, to a back staircase leading upstairs to the third-floor turret room. Every so often, Hazel caught the woman glancing back at her, as if she wanted to say something then reconsidered. The woman’s wire-rimmed spectacles gave her a studious air, and her plump frame reminded Hazel a bit of Alice.

  The stairs were narrow, and the air smelled musty, as if the area wasn’t used much, just as Lady Wakefield had indicated. At the top of the stairs was another short hallway with two doors—one at the far end of the hall and one in the middle. Mrs. Crosby walked to the middle door. “This way, madam.”

  As she followed th
e housekeeper, Hazel couldn’t help wondering where that other door led. Another set of stairs, perhaps? An escape route? Yet another wing of this enormous mansion?

  Hazel followed the housekeeper inside the turret room and found another space that looked as if it didn’t get much use. There was a small twin-sized bed with a bare striped mattress and a child-sized bureau with a thick coating of dust against one wall. The space was narrow and cramped and held no other furniture, or anything else, for that matter. Hard to imagine why Doris, or anyone else, would come up here. The girl could’ve been meeting someone, she supposed, but the gloomy atmosphere was hardly romantic. Maybe another sort of meeting? To exchange information or hold a conversation outside the prying ears of the rest of the staff?

  One dirty window in the far wall looked out over the home’s roofline. Hazel peered out to the left and saw a narrow ledge of parapet covered in metal flashing leading from the window to the roof. Two sets of deep, long scratches marred the edge of the flashing. Beside them was a small tuft of black fur blowing in the breeze.

  She filed away the information for later then turned to face the housekeeper again. “Mrs. Crosby, why do you think Doris was up here? Was it part of her duties to clean this area, or was it something else?”

  The housekeeper eyed the filthy dresser and snorted. “She most certainly was not cleaning, that’s for sure. Not with all this dust and grime. No. I think it’s quite obvious why the girl came here. To jump.”

  “Really?” Hazel crossed her arms to keep warm. The room had a definite chill, both literal and figurative. “So Doris was depressed then?”

  “Oh, well.” Mrs. Crosby looked away, her eyes lowered. “It’s not really my place to say.”

  “But if it was?”

  The older woman held Hazel’s gaze a moment, a slight flush staining her pale, wrinkled cheeks. “Well, if it was, I’d say that our Miss Doris was a little too fast and loose with her affections and that’s what got her into trouble. Wouldn’t be surprised if she had more than one lover too.” On a roll now, Mrs. Crosby stepped closer, her expression conspiratorial. “Don’t mind telling you that Doris was anxious lately too, like she might’ve been mixed up in something she shouldn’t have been. My theory is she was despondent over having to choose between her men.”

  “Her men?”

  At Hazel’s alarmed look, the housekeeper seemed to catch herself and stepped back, smoothing a hand down the front of her grey apron and schooling her features back into stoicism. “I don’t want to talk out of turn, Mrs. Martin, but I did warn Lady Wakefield about what I saw going on with Doris. So when she jumped, Lady Wakefield pulled me aside and said that it was understandable, given the circumstances I’d shared with her and that’s most certainly why Doris jumped. She even gave me permission to tell the police as much too.”

  “I see.” Hazel pushed away from the wall. “You truly believe that Doris killed herself then?”

  “I do,” Mrs. Crosby said, giving her an odd look. “What else would’ve happened?”

  “Yes, what else?”

  As they turned to leave, a fluffy black cat appeared at the top of the stairs. The feline sat there, regal as a monarch, watching Hazel with an unwavering green gaze as if trying to tell her something. Given Dickens’s penchant for predicting murders, Hazel didn’t take her feline forecasts lightly.

  The housekeeper noticed her staring at the cat and gave a dismissive wave, her tone disapproving. “Oh, that’s just Norwich. He’s Miss Eugenia’s cat. Always getting up to shenanigans. In fact, Doris was the one who’d chase after him each time he got away. He’s not allowed outside, what with all of Lady Wakefield’s birds in the garden. Lord help us all when Norwich catches one. He likes to leave their little heads in the big hall for Lady Wakefield to find. She nearly passed out the last time it happened. Not sure how he escaped the house or her wrath, but he always seems to find a way.”

  “Hmm.” Hazel gave the cat a wink and a smile. Norwich twitched his tail and purred. “He seems like a good boy to me.”

  “Good boy?” Mrs. Crosby scoffed. “Poor Doris was always chasing after him. Climbing up on the gazebo roof or extracting him from a tree. I told her she should focus on her own work, helping Miss Eugenia, and stop focusing so much on that nuisance cat, but she never did listen.” She pursed her lips. “Turns out the creature must have been fond of her. Saw her off to whatever comes next in a way.”

  “How so?” Hazel frowned.

  “He’s the first one who showed up on the scene downstairs after Doris jumped.”

  “Really?” Seizing the opportunity to learn more, Hazel asked as they descended the stairs, “What exactly happened the night Doris died?”

  “Well, let’s see. It was shortly after supper when I heard the scream from upstairs. I was in the dining room, doing the final clearing. All of a sudden there were footsteps thundering on polished floorboards as people ran up to the turret room to see what was going on. It’s a bit of a distance, as you can see, so it was quite a ruckus. I saw Betsy, the housemaid, run past the dining room door, so I decided to go up too. Granted, I’m a bit slower than the rest of them, though, so by the time I made it to the top of the stairs, it was already over. Lady Wakefield was standing there, her face white as a ghost, poor thing.”

  “Wait.” Hazel stopped. “Lady Wakefield was in the room when Doris jumped?”

  “No,” Mrs. Crosby said. “As far as I know, Doris was alone in the turret room. Lady Wakefield had just heard the screams like the rest of us and hurried to see what had happened.”

  “Hmm.” Hazel continued through the maze of hallways, compiling a list of suspects as she went. “Who else was present when you got to the third floor?”

  “Mr. Donovan, our estate manager. Betsy, as I mentioned. There was also George the under-butler, and Harrison the butler too. Master Thomas followed behind me up the stairs.”

  “And what did you all see when you walked into the turret room?”

  “The open window. And then when you peered out…” The housekeeper’s face greyed. “Well, it was just awful. As soon as it was apparent she’d jumped, we all ran downstairs to the ground floor. The rest of the staff had started to gather around Doris’s body too by then. She’d fallen so far and landed so hard, there was nothing anyone could do to save her by then, poor thing.” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze lowered. “Miss Eugenia was in her room and had just run outside to see what all the commotion was about, but we herded her back inside and sat her down in the drawing room. She’s much too delicate to see such gruesome things. She and Doris were very close too, though I never understood why.”

  The whole thing sounded far too near to a plot in one of Hazel’s mystery novels for her comfort. She frowned. “So most of the household were here and the staff were on duty when Doris died and either were in the room where she jumped or downstairs near her body after the fact?”

  Mrs. Crosby scowled. “I suppose that’s right, yes. Though a few were missing. The chauffeur and the stable boys weren’t there. Neither was the cook, as she was busy in the kitchen.”

  “What about Lord Wakefield?”

  “No. He wasn’t there either.”

  They reached the main part of the house again and walked back into the main hall.

  “What happened after you got Miss Eugenia inside and into the drawing room?” Hazel asked.

  “By then the police had arrived, of course. That handsome Detective Chief Inspector Gibson came.” The housekeeper fluffed her grey hair. “Pretty sure he’s coming back this afternoon too.”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and Harrison, the butler, answered, letting Gibson into the main hall. Hazel’s pulse quickened, and heat flushed her cheeks. He was handsome, no lie there, with his dark hair and eyes and athletic build. And yes, they’d worked together to solve his last case. She’d had fun and had been fairly sure he did too. But then Alice had gotten it into her head to encourage Gibson to court Hazel, and Hazel really wasn’t ready for tha
t and… blast. She’d been so busy ogling the man she’d forgotten to hide.

  Gibson spotted her and smiled, heading down the hall toward where she and Mrs. Crosby stood. Hazel tried to duck into a nearby doorway to avoid him, but it was too late.

  “Hazel, always a pleasure to see you again,” Inspector Gibson said, his kind brown eyes twinkling with amusement, as if he knew exactly what she’d been trying to do, namely duck his company. “You’re looking well.”

  Hazel took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress before meeting his gaze, praying she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. “Inspector Gibson. Very nice to see you again as well.”

  He smiled, his teeth even and white against his tanned skin. “Please excuse me if I’m mistaken, but I believe we agreed to be on a first name basis after our last encounter.”

  Fresh heat prickled her cheeks, and the nosy housekeeper’s stare weighed heavily on her shoulders. He would have to bring that up. She swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re correct. Michael.”

  “Always good to hear, Hazel.” His smile widened, showing an attractive dimple on the right side, though she detected a hint of suspicion in his gaze. “What brings you to Farnsworth Abbey today? You aren’t getting involved in the nasty business about Doris, I hope.”

  “Of course not,” she said. He was well aware she’d lent a hand in her late husband’s investigations when he’d been chief inspector. Writing mystery novels had given Hazel a keen sense of intrigue and above-average deduction skills, and Charles had appreciated her talents. Why, he’d even credited her as a consultant at times.

  Still, she wasn’t sure there was anything to investigate about poor Doris yet, and the last thing she wanted was for Michael Gibson to know she was there on the request of her maid, so instead she came up with what she hoped was a plausible excuse. “I just came to visit my friend, Lady Wakefield. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”