Murder by Misunderstanding Read online

  “I’m sorry,” Hazel said, doing her best to hide her shock and growing anger from her tone. Yes, she’d considered the possibility that poor Doris had been involved in some type of illicit affair, but none of that had been confirmed as of yet, and it certainly didn’t make her a tart.

  What left Hazel most unsettled was the fact Lady Wakefield had lost a member of her household staff and could remain so callous about it, worrying more about her reputation than justice for the victim. Still, she couldn’t afford to alienate this woman or her family until she got to the bottom of Doris’s death. So she played along with the woman’s distress as best she could.

  Hazel forced her most conciliatory smile and patted Lady Wakefield’s arm. “It’s a terrible thing you’re dealing with, I’m sure. Did the inspector say what changed their minds, or have you heard any rumors as to why the police might suspect foul play?”

  “No, not really.” Lady Wakefield sighed and turned her back on the turret room. “Though Mrs. Crosby did mention Doris might have been despondent over a lover. I certainly can’t imagine why else anyone would choose to come up to this dingy place unless it was for a romantic tryst, but then I’m not a servant either. Maybe conducting an illicit affair under our noses gave her some kind of cheap thrill.”

  Hazel didn’t miss the sharp edge to the woman’s tone or the narrowing of her dark eyes as she’d said the last words. They headed back downstairs again, passing a small sitting room where the Wakefield twins sat beside a fire, heads together as if deep in conversation. Lady Wakefield stopped just outside the door and motioned for Hazel to keep quiet by holding her index finger to her lips.

  Thomas had his arm around Eugenia, who still looked pale and shaken, her hands clenched tight in her lap. Her white-blond hair was held back by a sky-blue ribbon that matched the shade of her day dress. Thomas was wearing a shirt in a deeper shade of blue to match his eyes, and black trousers and braces. His red hair was several shades lighter than his mother’s auburn. He looked up and caught the ladies watching them then kissed his sister’s temple and murmured, “It will all work out, sis. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m so worried about my daughter,” Lady Wakefield whispered to Hazel, breaking her concentration. “Eugenia’s taken this accident so hard. I just hope it won’t affect her marital prospects.” Then she smiled and spoke loudly as she led Hazel into the room. “Ah, here are the twins. Have I told you how proud I am to be arranging an engagement between my Thomas and the Tewkesbury girl? She comes from such good breeding and old money.”

  Thomas looked up from his sister, giving a curt nod to Hazel before glaring at his mother. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s 1923, and I prefer to pick my own girls.”

  “Oh, pshaw.” Lady Wakefield gave a dismissive wave in her son’s direction. “We have the family name to think about, and the legacy of the Farnsworth estate to deal with. You’re heir to a title, Thomas, and as such, you have responsibilities. You’re the only son. You carry the family name onwards to the next generation. Tomorrow, we attend breakfast with the Tewkesburys, and I expect you to be receptive to their offer and their daughter.”

  At the mention of her brother’s impending engagement, Eugenia burst into a fresh round of tears, and Lady Wakefield rushed to her side to comfort her. “There, there, dear. I think perhaps you should not attend, Eugenia. Even though it might be good for you to get out a bit, in your state, it might only make things worse.” She laid a hand across her daughter’s forehead and sighed. “I don’t like your color, far too pale. And you’ve lost weight too, I can tell. You haven’t been eating nearly enough lately.”

  Eugenia only sobbed harder.

  “Oh no. Please don’t cry so, dear.” Lady Wakefield pulled the crying girl’s stiff form into her side, seemingly unaware of her daughter’s obvious discomfort and her son’s heated glare. Instead, she glanced up at Hazel and gave her a tight smile. “I’m so sorry you must be party to such unseemly hysterics, Mrs. Martin. But as I said, she and Doris were so close.” She went to stroke Eugenia’s hair, but the girl pulled away. “Now, with all the upset, my daughter has stopped eating. She’s barely touched her breakfast for the past several days, which isn’t like her at all. Too bad, really, since she’ll need all her strength to catch an earl this season.”

  Hazel watched the uncomfortable scene, the animosity between children and parent clear as day. What she really needed to do next was get Eugenia alone so she could question her—Thomas too, if possible. But with Lady Wakefield hovering around like a concerned, overprotective hen, sequestering the twins alone anytime soon didn’t seem likely. At least she’d accomplished her goal for the day—seeing what was behind that second door on the third floor.

  Backing toward the sitting room door, Hazel sighed. “I should really be going now. Need to get that writing time in. I can see myself out. Thank you again for your hospitality and indulging my author’s whims to investigate the turret room once more, Lady Wakefield. We can discuss the acknowledgement at a more convenient time.”

  Without waiting for a response, Hazel headed out into the hallway, creeping toward the family wing, where Lord Wakefield’s study was located. Once she reached the end of the hall and made a left, she spotted Lady Wakefield’s sewing room again. A quick peek inside showed that yes, there was a mirror above the sewing machine, just as Lady Wakefield had said, and it was positioned perfectly to spy on her husband across the hall. Still, the niggling suspicion that Lady Wakefield might have been covering for her errant husband the night of Doris’s death refused to abate. Was it possible, as Shrewsbury and Duffy suspected, that Lord Wakefield could’ve been having an affair with poor Doris and that jealousy might have had something to do with the murder?

  After a look both ways to make sure she wasn’t observed, Hazel tiptoed across the hall to look inside Lord Wakefield’s study. Inside, she found Norwich watching her, his black fur gleaming in the glow of the fire, his green eyes knowing. Her gaze skimmed the dark mahogany desk and tufted leather chairs, lighting on the velvet-draped French doors. It would be easy to slip outside without his wife noticing. If he had been the one to push Doris that night, it seemed impossible that he could have done so and not been seen by someone, given the distance between this wing of the house and the third-floor stairs. Making a mental note of it all, Hazel turned to leave, only to be halted by a quiet “Psst.”

  Startled, Hazel glanced to her left to see one of the housemaids poking her head out of the room at the end of the hall. She waved Hazel over to what turned out to be the library and pulled her into the shadows of the room, where she whispered, “I’m Betsy, madam. The word around the town is that you’re looking after what happened to Doris.”

  Hazel nodded.

  “I’ve heard about you. They say you’re a friend of the workers and your staff says you’re fair and trustworthy and all…”

  “I’m flattered they think so.” Hazel warmed at the thought that her staff talked about her in those complimentary terms. She flashed what she hoped was a friendly smile toward the nervous maid. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Yes, madam.” Betsy wrung her hands. “I overheard Doris arguing in Lord Wakefield’s study last Thursday, madam. One week exactly before she died. I couldn’t hear all of what they were fighting about, nor could I identify the other person’s voice, but I did hear Doris yelling about not being paid off.”

  “Paid off?” Hazel frowned. “Someone was trying to pay her off? For what?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, madam. Believe me, madam, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, honestly. I just couldn’t help overhearing, like I said. Down here on the first floor, this wing is very quiet, you see, with only the lord’s study and the lady’s sewing room and then this library at the end.” Betsy shrugged, not meeting Hazel’s gaze. “No one visits much during the day as there’s no way of passing through. You have to go back out into the main part of the house to get anywhere else.”

  “And this is normall
y your section of the house to clean?” Hazel asked, wondering what else Betsy might have seen during the course of her duties.

  “Yes, madam.” Betsy sniffed. “It’s my job to dust the spines of the books in the library every Thursday night, and that was what I was doing when the argument happened. That’s what I was doing two nights ago when poor Doris died too.”

  “Oh, well then, I was wondering if you might remember—”

  “Betsy? We need you in the sitting room, please,” Lady Wakefield called from the end of the hall. “Now, Betsy.”

  The maid tensed then gave Hazel a look. “Sorry, madam. I need to go. Wait here a few minutes while I attend to the family and keep them occupied, then head to the big hall. Harrison will let you out, no questions asked. Do you remember the way, madam?”

  Hazel nodded then watched as the maid disappeared, leaving her alone in the library. Amidst the smell of old books and furniture polish, she waited as requested until the coast was clear and all was quiet again before winding her way back to the grand hall. Harrison greeted her with another bow and a small smile as he let her out of the house. Having friends in the staff most definitely had its rewards.

  Chapter Nine

  Back at Hastings Manor later that morning, Hazel settled in to work on her book again, her jade Radite Sheaffer pen in hand and toast and tea from Alice on the desk beside her. The sunlight streaming in through the windows warmed her skin, and she pulled her cream-colored shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  Dickens meowed from the other side of the desk, playing with the end of her pen as she attempted to write. In this new scene she was drafting today, her detective hero, Archibald Fox, was trying to work out which one of his suspects was lying. The irony was not lost on her, as Hazel tried to discover the same thing about the Wakefield family. One of them had to be making up their alibi. One always did.

  After thirty minutes of not putting one single word on paper, however, Hazel put down her pen and picked up her toast instead, nibbling on the buttery snack, musing to Dickens about her case while he lay there, adorably swiping his paws over his face then licking them.

  “Maggie’s mum said Doris was going on a trip up north, but why would she? Winter’s coming, and most ladies’ maids don’t just up and go on trips alone anyway. Was she running away or being sent away?”

  Dickens stopped and stared at her, meowing loudly before resuming his grooming.

  “And where was Lord Wakefield when Doris fell, hmm?” She swallowed another mouthful of toast then brushed the crumbs from the front of her navy wool dress. “If he was in his study, then why didn’t he come running out like everyone else? Shrewsbury confirmed he wasn’t at his club as he’d originally claimed, so if he wasn’t there and he wasn’t in his study, then where exactly was he?”

  The cat took a sudden interest in a shiny paperclip on her desk, batting it around like a ball then attacking it as if it were a fierce opponent.

  “And was Doris truly as loose as Lady Wakefield and Mrs. Crosby have suggested? Fooling around with the chauffeur and passing notes to him while also dallying with both Thomas and his father?” She popped the last piece of the toast in her mouth then picked up her tea, sipping the luke-warm, milky liquid. “And where was this missing chauffeur when Doris fell, hmm? Mrs. Crosby claimed he was down in the garage, which would make sense, I suppose, but she couldn’t really confirm his location for sure, could she? No, because she was in the house at the time. Maybe I need to look into that.”

  Sighing, Hazel sat back and sipped her tea while Dickens batted the paperclip off the desk and onto the floor then moved back to batting her pen with his paw, rolling onto his back with the pen clasped tight between his paws like a baton. “Then there’s the whole convoluted matter of timing. If someone pushed Doris, would they have time to run back down the stairs before the others came up to investigate her screams? I did find the attic today and suppose the killer could’ve hidden in there, but that would mean they’d be trapped inside that stuffy space until everyone else had left the turret room. I suppose they could have waited for those who ran up to run back down again, and then sneaked out and joined them. Very risky, I say. And they wouldn’t stay in there since their absence would be noticed, and I’d think the police would look behind that door too during their investigation. I’ll make a note to ask Michael about that, because if they didn’t, then that might explain where Lord Wakefield was. Still, I can’t picture him hiding in there the whole time.” She exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “And if the killer wasn’t hiding in the attic, it must have been someone who either wasn’t in the turret room or wasn’t seen on the ground.”

  Dickens meowed again as the pen fell from his paws and clattered onto the desk. Hazel looked up and narrowed her gaze on him. “And who exactly was Doris arguing with in the lord’s study that night? Logic says it was Lord Wakefield, or perhaps Thomas, given it was in the family’s private wing. And what exactly were they fighting about? Was she blackmailing Lord Wakefield for money to go on this trip of hers, as Shrewsbury suggested? And if that’s the case, then what’s the chauffeur got to do with it all?”

  Hazel sat forward at last and grabbed Dickens’s paw before he dunked it in her teacup. “Eugenia knows something, doesn’t she, boy?” She laughed, shaking his foot like a tiny hand. “Yes, I agree, she does. I say we pay her a visit tomorrow morning after Lady Wakefield and Thomas leave for that ghastly breakfast at the Tewkesburys’, eh?”

  That night, Hazel just couldn’t face eating another meal alone at the big dining room table. It reminded her too much of the dinners she’d shared with her Charles, even with all the staff around. So, instead, she sneaked downstairs early and tiptoed around to the kitchen door in her stockinged feet. There, she peeked in at her staff enjoying their nightly meal together, minus Shrewsbury. She hadn’t dined with the staff since she’d been a child, but there was such comfort surrounding her household employees now that Hazel was nearly desperate for their company. Besides, being fussed over and served wasn’t her favorite thing.

  Hazel cleared her throat to alert them to her presence. “May I join you in here tonight for dinner?”

  The staff looked up and exchanged looks, then Alice waved her over, her smile warm as she gestured to an empty seat near the end of the table. “Please do, madam.”

  “Thanks.” She took her place then helped herself to leftover roast beef and vegetables from the night before as they were passed to her. In addition, there were fresh mashed potatoes, yummy roasted chicken, green beans from the kitchen garden—all her favorite hearty, tasty comfort food. She devoured a plateful then went back for seconds, finally settling back in her seat, full and content and amongst friends. It was one of the few times she’d felt this way since Charles had died. “I went to the Wakefields’ again this morning to check out a few things.”

  “What did you find, madam?” Duffy asked, knife and fork in hand. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Well, one of the housemaids, Betsy, said she’d overheard Doris arguing with someone in Lord Wakefield’s study a week before she died.”

  “Wonder what that’s about?” Alice said, wiping her mouth. “Arguing with the master is never a good thing.”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Hazel said, pouring herself a glass of water. “The only words Betsy heard clearly from Doris were ‘not paid off.’” Unfortunately, I haven’t yet worked out what they mean or how they’re related to her death.”

  “Hmm.” Duffy looked thoughtful. “That seems to imply blackmail. Perhaps she had information about Lord Wakefield he didn’t want her telling anyone. Which goes back to what Shrewsbury said.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought—” Hazel started, only to be interrupted by the stately butler himself entering and giving her a slight bow in his official uniform.

  “Inspector Gibson is here, madam.”

  Before Hazel could tell Shrewsbury to show the chief inspector into the sitting room, he appeared beside the butler in t
he kitchen doorway.

  “Inspector Gibson,” Hazel said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and feeling decidedly off-kilter at being seen so informally. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s my fault, madam,” Alice said, gesturing for Duffy and Maggie to scoot down a place to make room for the new arrival. “I invited him over to have a glass of beer with the men and must have forgotten to mention it to you.”

  As the inspector took a seat across the table from Hazel, Alice sliced him off a huge piece of apple pie and slid it in front of him. Michael smiled and thanked the cook, giving Hazel a warm, slightly embarrassed smile. “I certainly hope I’m not intruding.”

  “No, no.” Hazel gave Alice a look, not missing her cat-ate-the-canary grin and picked up her fork once more. “Not at all, Inspector Gibson. We were all just discussing Doris’s case. Your timing is perfect, actually.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He dug into his pie with gusto. For a man who ate so much, he certainly kept himself in excellent shape. “So, give me an update on your investigation. What have you found? Anything new today?”

  “Well, as I was just telling the staff a moment ago, I went back to Farnsworth Abbey this morning to double-check a few things, and one of the maids pulled me aside. Betsy said that a week before the accident, she overheard Doris arguing with someone in Lord Wakefield’s study.”

  “Really? What exactly did she hear? Who was talking?”