Lady Rights a Wrong Page 9

  A row of women in white dresses and suits, fashionable hats, and the ever-present sashes of purple, gold, and green filed into their places on the dais with their placards, below the Union banner.

  “And who are the others on the stage?” Jane asked.

  “You met Cora Black; she’s the secretary. She also says she is a spirit medium, which must be fascinating. And Harriet Palmer.”

  “And Mrs. Price has that other daughter? The overdressed one?”

  “Mrs. Mary Winter. She’s against women’s suffrage, and her husband is as pompous looking a stuffed shirt as you can imagine. I admit I’m rather curious about why they’re here. Anne Price says they seldom hear from them.”

  “And the elder Mr. Price?”

  Cecilia shook her head. “I don’t know anything about him at all, except that he’s a solicitor. Rather an important one, too, I believe. It seems husband and wife don’t share a roof, or at least don’t often see each other.”

  Jane laughed. “Some would call that an ideal marriage, then.”

  “Indeed,” Cecilia murmured, thinking of some Society friends of her parents who only seemed to meet at dinner parties.

  The lights dimmed a bit, and Anne Price made her introduction to a burst of wild applause. When Amelia appeared, she leaned on a walking stick but otherwise appeared no worse for her tumble. She smiled and waved, and Cecilia couldn’t help but notice something odd—she didn’t wear her ruby ring.

  * * *

  Cecilia awoke early the next morning, after a night of strange dreams that had her tossing and turning. She wondered if it had been a full moon, or maybe the Blue Lady had been wandering the corridors, stirred up by newcomers and break-ins.

  She rolled over and drew the quilted satin coverlet up onto her shoulders. Jack had come into her room in the night and was burrowed under the blankets at her feet. The housemaid had already been in to lay the fire, but the autumn mornings were turning chilly now, and Cecilia was happy to stay in the cozy haven of her bed a little longer, remembering the rally last night.

  As the clock struck the hour, the door opened and Jane slipped quietly into the chamber, a tray in her hands. Since she had come to Danby, she had quickly learned all the discreet arts of being a lady’s maid—except one. Cecilia should really go down to breakfast, as an unmarried young lady, but Jane always brought her some tea in bed first so they could chatter before Annabel awoke.

  “I’m awake already, Jane,” Cecilia said. She pushed herself up against the pillows as Jane set the tray on the bedside table and went to open the draperies. It was a gray day outside, clouds lowering over the old medieval tower.

  “Good morning, then, my lady,” Jane said, gathering up the pink silk dinner gown from last night, along with the more practical blue wool walking dress she had worn to the rally, and putting them in the wicker basket to send to the laundry. It was all like every morning—except that Jane’s eyes were red rimmed, her skin pale under her freckles.

  Cecilia was immediately concerned. Jane was that rare creature—a real morning person, eager to chatter even as the sun was low in the sky. Today her quiet demeanor and wan face made Cecilia sit up straighter. Jack peeked out from under the blankets. “Jane, what’s wrong? Is someone ill? Are you ill?”

  Jane glanced up, biting her lip. “Oh, my lady. I hardly know how to say it. It’s too terrible.”

  Now Cecilia was almost panic-stricken. “Is it my grandmother?”

  Jane shook her head. “It—it’s Mrs. Price, my lady. Amelia Price. We just heard she’s dead!”

  “Mrs. Price, dead?” Cecilia gasped, a feeling of numbness spreading over her. How could that be? They had seen Amelia just the night before, giving her impassioned speech. “But how? Was her fall worse than had been thought? Was she . . .” A terrible thought occurred to her. “Was she attacked by someone like Lord Elphin?”

  “No one knows yet, my lady! The delivery boy from Mrs. Mabry’s grocery brought the news from the village just as I was making your tea. It looks like she took another tumble down the stairs at Primrose Cottage, still fully dressed after the rally. Cora Black found her when she got up this morning. She could have been lying there all night!”

  “Oh, poor Cora. And poor Anne Price,” Cecilia murmured, imaging the horror she would have felt to find her own mother in such a way. She pushed back the bedclothes and swung her feet down to the rug, barely missing Jack, who had crept under the bed to swipe at unsuspecting passersby with his paw. “Help me get dressed right away, Jane. We must go to the village at once.”

  Chapter Ten

  The village seemed strangely deserted as Cecilia and Jane made their way along the high street, really quite eerie for the hour when business should be bustling in the shops. Cecilia held tightly to Jack’s basket as they proceeded down the street. Only a few people hurried down the walkway, nodding at Cecilia as they passed but not stopping to chat. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, perhaps Sebastian in her grandmother’s garden; nothing would faze the terrier. Yet even he quickly fell silent, and Jack didn’t respond to the provocation, as he usually would.

  As they walked, Cecilia exchanged a quick glance with Jane and saw her own shock and disbelief in the maid’s eyes. They had just seen Mrs. Price atop the dais at the Guildhall, so alive, so full of passion for her cause! So beautiful. How could that suddenly be cut short? It hardly seemed real.

  Cecilia could see a few signs of life. Pink gingham curtains swaying at the tea shop window, a light above Mr. Hatcher’s bookstore, an early funeral wreath of dark purple delphiniums already laid out in the florist’s window. She knew that behind the scenes gossip would be flying like birds on the wing. Nobody’s business stayed secret in the country, especially not when that business was the sudden death of a scandalous celebrity.

  She noticed Mr. Talbot, Collins’s cousin, opening the door of his antiques shop. His shop was near Primrose Cottage. “Good morning, Lady Cecilia, Miss Hughes,” he called. “Though it’s hardly a good morning, of course. Such a shocking thing.”

  “Indeed it is, Mr. Talbot,” Cecilia agreed. She hoisted Jack’s basket higher so he could “mrow” a greeting to the shop owner. “Did you see or hear anything at all strange last night?”

  He shook his head sadly, touching a finger to Jack’s velvety nose through the bars of the basket. “Not a peep, after everyone settled down after the Guildhall rally. It was an evening like any other. I had my cocoa and got ready to retire. Most of the lights in everyone’s windows were out by then.” His eyebrow suddenly went up. “Though I did notice something before I closed my curtains.”

  “Something strange?”

  “Just a man walking down the street. He had a sack over his shoulder, heavy I would say, since he was moving slowly, a bit unsteady on his feet. I thought he might just be a late straggler from the Crown. With that Lord Elphin and his men hanging about lately, I’m sure the pub is doing a brisk trade.”

  “Do you think it was Lord Elphin?” Jane asked.

  Mr. Talbot frowned in thought. “I wouldn’t think so. Lord Elphin is a portly man, isn’t he, and this man was thinner. Taller, I think. But I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Was he coming away from Primrose Cottage?” Cecilia said, wondering if the attempted thief had come back.

  “Perhaps, but anyone from that direction would be. Primrose Cottage is set a fair ways back from the other houses along here.” He shook his head. “Are any of us safe in our beds these days, I wonder? Danby is usually such a quiet place.”

  “Yes, usually,” Cecilia murmured. But now this was two murders in only a few months! Surely, a record since the wild days of Civil Wars over two hundred years ago. “Do come up to Danby Hall if you feel at all unsafe, Mr. Talbot. Collins does have his own flat over the garage.”

  “That’s kind of you, Lady Cecilia, but I daren’t leave my shop. I will certainly put my best
wares in the safe at night now. I hear that Colonel Havelock has sent for Inspector Hennesy from Leeds again, as a precaution after that break-in with the Prices. I’m sure this will all be over in no time.”

  Cecilia sighed inwardly. Not Inspector Hennesy again! She hadn’t cared for him very much during the business with Mr. Hayes. Though she supposed she couldn’t be surprised, not with Sergeant Dunn already in the village and Mrs. Price being famous. She and Jane bade goodbye to Mr. Talbot and continued on to Primrose Cottage.

  If the village was strangely quiet, the cottage was the opposite. The door and windows were flung open, and loud, angry voices, cries, and sobs floated out on the morning breeze. Sergeant Dunn’s bicycle leaned against the gate with Mrs. Price’s, but there was as yet no sign of the inspector.

  Cora sat alone on a bench under the oak tree, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She wore a blue silk kimono over her nightdress, and her hair fell in an untidy plait down her back.

  “Oh, Miss Black! Cora,” Cecilia cried, feeling a deep wave of pity wash over her. She and Jane hurried to her side. “I am so very sorry.”

  Cora looked up, her eyes red, her cheeks flushed and puffy from crying. Jane dug a handkerchief from her coat pocket and pressed it into Cora’s hand with a gentle smile. Cecilia opened Jack’s basket, and he jumped into Cora’s lap for a comforting meow and a pat.

  “Lady Cecilia, Miss Hughes,” Cora said, hugging Jack. “Thank you for coming. Everything is in such confusion! Poor Nellie has even locked herself in her room, refusing to come out. And they say some police inspector is on his way, that there must be an inquest. It’s too awful for words! Mrs. Price—gone like that. What will happen to us all?”

  “Did you find her?” Cecilia asked softly. She remembered from the terrible Hayes business that it could be important to remember things when they were fresh, not clouded with time and fear and hope.

  Cora blew her nose in Jane’s handkerchief and nodded. “When I woke up and came downstairs. I’m usually the first one about. Mrs. Price likes to sleep late, especially after a speech. And—and there she was. Just lying at the foot of the stairs, her head all twisted! I’ll never forget it, ever.”

  “And you heard nothing at all during the night?” Cecilia said.

  Cora shook her head, watching as Jack jumped down to sniff at the doorstep. “I haven’t been feeling quite well of late, you see, and I took a dose of laudanum last night. If only I hadn’t! I should have stayed up with her. She wanted a brandy before bed, but I was just too tired.”

  “A brandy?” Cecilia said, thinking of the tumble Amelia had already taken once on the stairs, her enjoyment of French wines.

  Cora seemed to sense what she was thinking and shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t like that at all! She only had a glass once in a while. Mrs. Price was entirely respectable in her habits.”

  “Was anyone else in the house?” Jane asked.

  “Anne, of course, and Nellie. Harriet had taken a room at the Crown—she said it was too crowded here, but she stayed for a while after we returned from the Guildhall.” She blew her nose again, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, and Mr. and Mrs. Winter!”

  Cecilia was surprised. There certainly seemed no love lost between Amelia and her elder daughter and son-in-law. “Really? At such an hour? What did they want?”

  Cora shook her head. “I don’t know. Mrs. Price wanted to be alone with them when I said I was tired, so I went ahead to bed. There didn’t seem to be an argument, though, no raised voices. Anne might know, I suppose.”

  Cecilia glanced at the open front door, where Jack still sniffed about, and glimpsed Colonel Havelock just inside. “Jane, can you and Jack stay with Cora for a moment? I’m just going to speak to the colonel.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Jane murmured soothingly to Cora, putting her arm around the woman’s heaving shoulders. Jane was always so good in a crisis; Cecilia feared her own Bates reserve reared up when she was faced with tears, no matter how strong her own emotion, but she hoped she was improving thanks to Jane’s friendship and example.

  She hurried through the foyer and past the sitting room door of the cottage, where she could hear Sergeant Dunn and Anne Price speaking, to the scene of the crime—if of course it was indeed a crime. Amelia Price lay sprawled on her back on the carpet at the foot of the narrow old stairs, her legs pointed up on the steps, her torso and head on the floor, as if she had fallen straight backward. Unlike Cora, who was in her bedclothes, Amelia was still wearing her white lace and chiffon evening gown from the night before, her purple, gold, and green sash over her shoulder. But the sash was ripped, half of it jaggedly separated from the rest and missing. One of her elegant, Louis-heeled kid shoes was gone, and the sight of that bare, silk-stockinged foot made Cecilia choke back a sob. She couldn’t help but think of the old tale of Amy Robsart, neck broken on the stairs in Cumnor Place in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That death had never been solved.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to study the rest of the scene. The cause of death did seem obvious; a pool of half-dried, darkened blood was under Amelia’s head, her hair disarranged though not loosened from its pearl pins. One arm was flung out at an awkward angle, as if broken in the fall, or maybe grabbed and twisted. Aside from the carpet along the stairs being a bit askew, nothing else seemed out of place. She wore her wedding band but no ruby ring.

  “Good morning, Lady Cecilia,” she heard Colonel Havelock say, and she turned to give him a sad smile. He was a kind man, an intelligent and observant one, whose equally smart wife often served on charity organizations with Cecilia and her mother. She wondered what he made of the whole business.

  “Hello, Colonel Havelock,” she said. “This is certainly a terrible thing.”

  “Terrible indeed. We fear the press may descend at any moment, so we are about to seal the area. Are you friends with the deceased?”

  Cecilia glanced at Amelia and was struck again by the utter absence of a soul that had been so very vital. “Of a sort, yes. I called here a couple of times and attended two of Mrs. Price’s rallies at the Guildhall. She was a remarkable lady.”

  Colonel Havelock frowned. “Remarkable, yes, so my wife tells me. And, shall we say, controversial.”

  “I heard that Inspector Hennesy has been summoned. Does that mean foul play is suggested?”

  “Sergeant Dunn was in the village on another case and suggested it might be wise, in the case of such a well-known personality as Mrs. Price, to cover all possibilities. I have taken a preliminary look and see nothing to suggest anything other than a tragic accident. It seems the lady was, shall we say, fond of a nightcap.”

  “Miss Black said she didn’t drink all that much,” Cecilia said. “And she did also have enemies.”

  “Of course, as anyone in public life would.”

  “And one of them came here last night and killed her!” Anne Price cried.

  Cecilia turned to see Anne standing in the sitting room doorway. Unlike Cora in her nightdress and kimono, Anne was neatly dressed in a navy blue wool skirt and crisp white shirtwaist, a purple tie knotted at her starched collar. A black band circled her arm. Her hair was up in a braided knot, but like Cora she looked as if she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, but dry.

  “Miss Price,” Cecilia said, going to her side. “I am so very sorry. Are you quite sure this was not just some terrible accident?”

  Anne glanced over her shoulder, and Cecilia could see that she was looking at the round séance table in the corner. It held wine bottles and a glass stained with the remains of a dark brandy, a hint of lip rouge on the rim. There was only the one glass, though Cora had said Mr. and Mrs. Winter had also been there last night. Scraps of paper were scattered around them. Sergeant Dunn stood next to the table, notebook in hand, and Cecilia wondered if he had also questioned the amount of wine.

&n
bsp; For an instant, something like doubt flickered across Anne’s face, but then her expression hardened. She fiercely shook her head.

  “My sister and her husband were here for a time, and Mother sent me to bed, saying she would look at her speech before she retired. I heard Monty’s car not long after that, so they must have left,” Anne said. “I didn’t hear Mother come upstairs, but she often stayed up late. It’s true she enjoyed a glass of wine at times, but not when she was going to work. She must have been pushed. Her sash was torn away, don’t you see?” Her voice cracked.

  Cecilia gently took her hand. She had the definite sense that Anne was not a woman who let many people close, but she did allow Cecilia to lead her back into the sitting room, away from the stairs. The sergeant nodded and discreetly departed. Anne went to the fire as if to stir it up, but faltered on a sob.

  Cecilia helped Anne to sit down on an overstuffed velvet settee near the fireplace, before she knelt down to try to stir up the embers. Cecilia didn’t often make a fire, but she was sure she could do it. It was turning into a warmish day, but Anne rubbed at her muslin-covered arms as if in cold shock.

  “Should we not—move her?” Anne said quietly, gesturing to the doorway.

  Cecilia remembered what it had been like when Mr. Hayes collapsed in the Danby dining room. “I’m afraid not, Miss Price. An inspector has been called, and he’ll want to gather all the clues he can to present at the inquest. I am so sorry. But our village undertaker is quite good and I’m sure will come as soon as possible to help you make the arrangements.” She prodded at the ashes and noticed what seemed to be scraps of paper.