The Scarlet Wench (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

“It’s considered vulgar to say ‘dead’ where I come from.”

Elvira: Act
I
, Scene 2

Thursday, 12th April

6:12 AM

Wild shrieks from upstairs woke Nora and Declan.

  “Stay here.” Declan threw on his robe and ran out of the room.

  Nora heard footsteps running upstairs and a general commotion. She put on her robe and grabbed Sean from his cot. Still fast asleep, he stirred in her arms as she rushed into the hallway. Maeve stood in Simon’s door, wearing one of his soccer shirts.

  “What’s happened?” Maeve rubbed her eyes, her shiny bob askew.

  “I’m going to see.”

  “Give Sean to me.” Maeve held out her arms for the sleeping baby.

  “If he wakes, his formula’s in my fridge—”

  “Just go!”

  Nora took off as fast as her slippers would let her run through the dining room and up the stairs, still lit in the weak morning light by several dying hurricanes. Someone sobbed, and voices were raised.

  “Everyone, please stand back.” Declan’s authoritative voice rang over the gabble.

  Nora pushed past the guests standing around Gemma’s doorway and met Simon on the threshold. His face was white. She looked inside to see Declan at the side of the bed, going through the motions of feeling for a pulse on the body of Gemma Hartwell.

  Nora sucked in a breath. Declan stood and shook his head. The still figure lay among the sumptuous trappings of the Shakespeare Suite, a blonde Ophelia with a serene expression, her hair fanned out on her pillow. Nora felt she’d stumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole into a surreal nightmare.

  Declan closed the door behind him and faced the people lining the hall. “I’m afraid there’s no chance of resuscitation.”

  “Are you certain?” Grayson moved to brush past him.

   Declan put out a restraining arm. “Without question. She’s been dead for hours.” There were gasps at his pronouncement.

  Rupert had his arm around Lydia, who cried softly into her husband’s chest. He raised his head. “It was Lydia who found her and screamed.

  “I knew it—I knew there was evil here,” Helen whispered.

  Fiona reeled around and would have pushed the old woman if Nora hadn’t stepped between them.

  “Shut up! Just shut up, will you!” Fiona burst into tears and ran into her room, slamming the door.

  “Actually, I’m going to ask all of you to return to your rooms now and get dressed, then gather in the dining room until I can talk with each of you separately.” Declan’s tone brooked no argument.

  Burt and Helen immediately turned to do as he’d asked, with Poppy following behind. Grayson stood looking at the closed door and Declan’s implacable face.

  “Quite right. Come, dear, let’s get you to lie down for a few moments.” Rupert guided Lydia next door to their room and gently shut the door.

  “Simon, we need to lock this room after I open the windows. It will keep the body cooler.” Declan stood in front of the door, arms crossed, as Simon ran downstairs to get the key.

  “Why do you get to go back in there and I can’t?” Grayson pressed.

  Nora knew the answer to that: because Declan had already been in the room, and the less the crime scene was disturbed by outsiders, the better. The director’s eyes hollowed, and he seemed to distance himself as Declan explained and then asked his own question.

  “Was Gemma with you at all last night, Grayson?”

  The man roused himself to answer. “No, I took a painkiller along with one of her sleeping pills after that brandy … she couldn’t handle my snoring when I’m out like that and wanted to sleep in her own room.”

  Nora caught Declan’s eye and nodded, remembering the overheard conversation between Grayson and Gemma the night before.

  Declan persisted. “You didn’t see her at all after you came upstairs?”

  “She helped me undress, then tucked me into bed and went to her own room.” His face paled. “I didn’t think it would be the last time I’d see her alive.”

  The man seemed sincerely distressed, but Nora reminded herself that she was dealing with a group of people who were used to wearing mantles of expression that were not genuine at all.

  “You mean you might have been nicer to her?” Declan’s sharp tone surprised Nora, but he had years of interviewing experience that taught him to read between the spoken lines.

  Grayson looked up. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m going to take your advice and get dressed.” He turned on his heel and shut his door just as Simon returned with the key.

  “Could you tell how she died?” Simon held out the key.

  Declan shook his head. “Not yet.”  He entered the room and opened the windows, looking around the suite as he carefully trod where he’d been before. “Rain’s coming in a bit. And there’s a large candle lying on the floor near the foot of the bed. Get
me a few plastic bags, would you, Simon? And I could use some towels to protect your carpet.”

  Nora ran to the linen closet for a stack of towels while Simon retrieved plastic bags from the closet behind the stairs. Declan took them all, tucking the bags into his robe pocket. He laid a bag flat, then used several towels to pad the floor under each open window in turn, but he kept one towel back.

  The daylight was stronger, and in the doorway, Nora stood next to Simon and watched Declan step closer to the bed and lean in to inspect Gemma’s body. He lifted one eyelid. “Petechiae,” he muttered.

  He used one end of the towel to lift Gemma’s hair and inspect her neck. Keeping his hand covered by the towel, he lifted the pillow next to her and sniffed both sides, inspecting it carefully. He took one of the plastic bags from his pocket and kept the towel around the pillow, shoved them both into the bag and closed it. He laid it by the door.

  Next, he looked carefully around the room before stooping to use the inside of a second plastic bag to wrap around the candle on the floor. He left the room and locked the door.

  Nora wanted to ask his thoughts but kept silent. He was the professional. He’d share his ideas when he could, but from years of reading mysteries, she knew petechiae meant a lack of oxygen.

  Declan pocketed the key. “I need to do this the right way. Let’s get dressed so I can start interviews once I call it in to Kendal Station.”

  “You’ll get a stronger mobile signal to if you go out on the terrace,” Simon offered. “Poor woman. This is horrific.”

  Nora admired Simon’s sadness. With Gemma’s death, the play couldn’t go on.  Away went the financial security he’d hoped it would provide, but his first instinct was to rue the loss of life.

  Declan nodded. “I’ll tape and sign these bags.” He clapped Simon on the back.

  Nora followed the men downstairs. Poor Gemma and poor Simon, too. A death on the premises of Ramsey Lodge—and of a celebrated actress? The press would have a field day. She ordered her thoughts as they headed down the hall. If Gemma’s death seemed to be from natural causes, Declan wouldn’t have bagged evidence. A chill ran through her as they stopped at Simon’s door, which stood open. Her sense of unreality lifted and with it came clarity of purpose.

  Maeve had brought in Sean’s high chair and played with him with his blocks. Maeve rose when she saw them in the doorway. “What’s happened?

  Sean hooted when he saw Nora and raised his arms to be picked up. “Hello, lovey.” Maeve must have changed his nappy when he woke, for he felt dry and warm.

  Simon explained and Maeve brought one hand to her mouth to hold back her gasp. “Simon—how awful!”

  “Maeve, would you mind keeping an eye on Sean a while longer?” Nora nuzzled the baby. The stakes had definitely been raised.

  “Of course. There’s not much else I can do right now.”

  Nora turned to Declan. “You’ll need someone to take notes after breakfast as you interview.” She held up a hand as Declan and Simon both started to protest. “I’m the writer and have my own shorthand; it makes sense.” Besides, this way she would be privy to what was said and draw her own conclusions. She still believed her years of working with celebrities gave her something to offer: a perspective Declan couldn’t possibly have.

  “It really does, Declan.” Maeve’s support clinched the deal, and Nora flashed her a brief smile of thanks. “Simon, we can bring Sean into the dining room after we’re dressed. And put out cereal and fruit and even juice for anyone who wants to eat.”

  “I can boil water on the gas stove and make tea.” Simon looked at Nora. “We won’t let that baby out of our sight.”

  “That’s settled then.” Before Declan could protest, Nora left to get dressed.

  Declan followed her in and sorted out the clothes he’d packed. “I suppose I could use the help,” he allowed.

  She flashed him a smile, than ran into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She eyed Declan’s open kit, a tan leather bag softened from years of use. Spying a familiar Penhaligon’s bottle with its rounded stopper, she lifted it and sniffed. Opus
1870
gave her a rush of the peppery, woody cedar scent he used. It steadied her in the midst of this bizarre morning. She dropped it back in the bag and came out to grab clean clothes. Declan had his jeans on and threw her a brief smile.

  Nora paused, bra and panties in hand. Now what? Go into the bathroom to get dressed when they’d already been intimate? Then she realized Gemma was upstairs, dead, and this was not the time to stand on ceremony with someone who’d already seen all her jiggly bits and scars. She pulled her nightgown over her head and turned away to fasten her bra and pull on clean panties, hoping her pregnancy pounds really did make her look as sexy as Declan had intimated. She peeked over her shoulder to see Declan occupied with his shirt buttons. With goose bumps from the coolness, she hurriedly slid into her jeans and pulled on a tee shirt and then a sweater for layering to ward off the chill. By the time she turned around, Declan had added a fleece to his shirt and was on his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  While he was in the bathroom, Nora went to her desk for her notebook. She realized her hands were trembling. There was a dead woman at Ramsey Lodge, right here in this house she called home. Would she ever feel safe here again?

  She thought of Gemma’s family, who would soon be getting the painful news of her death, dealing with the loss of their daughter—or sister, if she had siblings. The thought made Nora remember the call to the Pembrokes she’d been avoiding. Though it weighed heavily on her conscience now, she wouldn’t be able to reach them with the flooding. This wasn’t the right time at all. It would have to wait.

  Nora neatly pushed their call back into the to-do compartment of her mind. She had to concentrate on the task at hand. While she was happy she could finally help Declan on a case, her overriding need was to find the murderer before he or she could strike again while her baby was in the house.

Chapter Twenty-One

“The whole experience has unhinged me.”

Charles: Act
I
, Scene 2

7:50 AM

Simon sat woodenly in his kitchen. This was a terrible tragedy, an awful happening—a dead actress from a play he had a financial stake in, right here on his property.

  Nora came in, squeezed his shoulder and left with Sean. Declan followed her and took Sean’s high chair. Maeve came out of the bedroom, warmly dressed, and guided Simon into the kitchen. “Time to do something useful, Si.”

  He shook himself out of his stupor. He was still the owner of Ramsey Lodge and had responsibilities. He led the way to the lodge kitchen and put water on to boil while Maeve arranged muffins on a tray.

  He refilled the fruit bowl, quickly opening the fridge to extract grapes; he was pleased it was still cool. The bag of ice he’d added last night was half gone, the melted water caught in the bowl he’d stacked it in. At least one thing was going right. The juice and milk were fine in the cooler, too. With any luck, the electric would come back on soon. He glanced out the kitchen window. Was it his imagination or was the rain slowing down?

  He brought juice and glasses into the dining room and added them to the sideboard. It would be help-yourself today if anyone even felt like eating. His thoughts strayed to that poor woman upstairs. Gemma had looked beautiful even dead—like a wax figure. Declan hadn’t confirmed it yet, but Simon doubted her death was natural after he’d watched Declan bag that pillow,
although maybe he was just being cautious. She could have died from an overdose of something she took, maybe helped herself to Grayson’s pain pills? He felt a pang of guilt if the brandy he’d offered after all the wine she’d drunk had contributed to her death. A natural death could happen anywhere and at any time, but she was awfully young for something like a heart attack, unless she’d been into cocaine. Great, drugs on site, or if not … Simon shuddered to think what would happen to business at Ramsey Lodge if Gemma Hartwell had been murdered. Selfish, totally selfish. A woman was dead, regardless of the cause, and here he was thinking of how it would affect his trade.

  He followed Maeve into the dining room, where Nora sat by Sean, giving him his breakfast, notebook next to her at the ready. Declan came in from the terrace and draped his wet anorak across the back of an empty chair. Simon didn’t envy him the job of cooling Nora’s enthusiasm while trying to conduct an investigation. She’d be right in the midst of it all until it was cleared up, especially with Sean here. Simon looked at Declan’s face and was suddenly certain Gemma had been murdered.

  “I got through out there, but the signal is in and out.” Declan plopped into a chair next to Nora.

  “What did they say?” Simon steeled himself for the answer.

  The detective had everyone’s attention. “First, the weather. Cumbria is flooded. A bridge has collapsed on the A
596
near Workington, and a policeman died.”

  Maeve gasped, and Nora shook her head as Declan continued. “There are widespread power cuts, and the police surgeon can’t get here until the water recedes.” He pushed his wet hair off his forehead. “I’m in charge and no one leaves the lodge. Not as if they could. That should all go over well.” He wiped water off the back of his neck with a paper napkin. “The only good news is that the electric is starting to come back in this area, and Windermere and Bowness should be back today.”

  “What about … ” Nora gestured upstairs.

  “We’re to leave her in situ, and I’ll call back later for an update on the police surgeon and the forensic team.”

  What more can go on? Simon asked the question he knew was in all their minds. “How did she die, Declan?”

  “I can’t be certain. She has broken blood vessels in her eyes, a sign of asphyxia, and her pillow had smears of lipstick and scent. My impression? She was smothered as she slept.”

  “And if she took a sleeping pill after all that alcohol, anyone could have gotten into her room without waking her,” Nora pointed out.

  Declan nodded briskly. “In the meantime, Simon, gather everyone around the table where we can keep an eye on them. I’ll start interviews individually in the drawing room.”

  Maeve brought cereal and juice over to their table. “Better get something inside you. I’m going to see if I can check on Agnes.” She took her mobile out of her pocket. “Can I borrow your anorak?”

  Declan nodded. “Just keep her and Callie away, and don’t tell them what’s happened.”

  Maeve took his damp jacket. “I won’t, but they’ll hear soon enough.”

  Simon grimaced. “There’s no way Val can get here today, Nora.”

  She gave him a brief smile. “Not your fault. None of this is, Simon. I’ll try to reach Val later.”

  “She’ll have heard about the flood on the news,” Simon pointed out.

  Nora took Sean’s plastic keys and shook them. He made a grab and immediately started to chew on them.

  Simon saw worry line her face. This was horrific, and so much more than a loss of business was on the line. “Declan, we need to find out who’s responsible before another night passes.”

*

8:20 AM

Declan watched the cast sit morosely around their table as he brought them up to speed on the situation. Simon carried in a pot of tea and poured a cup. He served it to Lydia after telling the others to help themselves. The woman had herself in control, although her eyes were still red. Rupert had his arm around her shoulders.

  “Please remain in the dining room after eating,” Declan said as chairs scraped back. Burt and Fiona went to the sideboard. Poppy poured tea for Grayson and herself. Helen sat quietly, nibbling a hangnail, accepting tea from Fiona.

  Declan described the severity of the flooding. “I’m to head up the investigation in the absence of local Criminal Investigation Department. That means a statement from each of you.”

  Grayson started to protest but clapped his mouth shut when Declan added: “I believe Gemma was murdered.”

  A ripple of shock ran across the faces ranged around the table. Helen’s cup rattled in her saucer, and she put her hands in her lap.

  “I’d like to start with you, Mrs. Denton, after you’ve had your tea.” Declan saw Rupert trace soothing circles on Lydia’s back.

  Lydia stood. “No, let’s get this over with.” Rupert stood to join her.

  “Just Mrs. Denton for now, please,” Declan clarified, and Rupert reluctantly sat back down.

  Maeve took Nora’s place at their table. Nora nodded her thanks and picked up her notebook and Lydia’s teacup. Declan took Lydia’s arm and walked her into the drawing room.

  “Why’s she allowed to leave the room?” Poppy protested, pointing to Nora.

  “Nora’s taking interview notes.” Declan’s tone was curt.

  He heard Fiona as they walked out. “Pipe down, Poppy. You’ll just have to stick it out here like the rest of us.”

  Declan arranged a few folding chairs into a circle. Nora put Lydia’s tea on an empty chair beside her.

  “Drink some of that. I hope it has plenty of sugar in it.” Declan’s tone was kind. These would be some of the most unusual interviews he’d ever conducted.

  Lydia obliged and smiled wanly at the detective.

  “Why don’t you start by describing your movements after you went upstairs last night, Mrs. Denton?” Declan nodded to Nora, who opened her notebook. He watched as she wrote Lydia’s name and the date and time across the top line.

  “Please, call me Lydia.” She described their bedtime routine. “We shared an orange and talked for a while. I wanted to read, but Rupert thought it might hurt my eyes. I put the extra blanket on our bed, and we put the candle in the bathroom and settled down to sleep.” She reached for her tea.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Rupert got up to use the bathroom around
3
—old bladders, you know. I felt him leave the bed, so I went, too, and then we both went back to sleep.”

  “Did you hear any noises from Gemma’s room?”

  “No. I woke about
6
, my usual time, and saw our candle was ready to go out.”

  Declan nodded encouragement; Nora noted times and actions as Lydia continued.

  “It was starting to get light but I worry so about Rupert falling, so I went into the hall to get another candle from the extras Simon left on the table at the head of the stairs. Such a nice young man, so thoughtful.” Lydia sighed.

  Declan knew she was getting to the part of the morning she’d rather not remember.

  “I saw Gemma’s door was ajar. I worried she’d been sick, so I went in. She was lying there, so still … ” She looked up at Declan and Nora. “At first, I thought she was asleep, but there was enough light coming in the window as I got closer to see she wasn’t moving, didn’t seem to be breathing. And then I touched her; she was so
cold
and I—” Lydia started to cry.

  This was where he had to keep her talking. “You didn’t touch anything after you called out?”

  “No, just her hand.” Lydia wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Rupert got to me first, and I told him I thought Gemma was dead, and he took me out into the hall. And then you got there,” she finished with a gulp.

  “What made you think she’d been sick?”

  “Because she’d been quite drunk last night, hadn’t she?” She sniffled into her tissue.

  Even as she patted Lydia’s knee, Nora caught his eye and raised a reproachful eyebrow. It reminded him to bring up Lydia’s daughter.

  Declan waited for Lydia to compose herself before asking: “Lydia, I understand you and Rupert had a daughter.”

  Lydia’s head came up. “Maggie, our lovely girl,” she whispered.

  “She was in a production with Grayson Lange,” Declan prompted.

  “
Major Barbara
; Shaw, you know. She played Sarah.” Lydia’s lip trembled.

  Declan waited for her to go on. Nora shifted in her seat, and he feared she would barge in and throw questions at the woman. But Declan knew the value of silence.

  “They—she fell in love with him. Once the show was over, so was their affair. Maggie stopped eating, lost her drive. She wouldn’t listen to reason or see a doctor.” Her voice hardened. “He was her first big love, and he tossed her away like a used tissue. She wasn’t worldly. It did her in, in the end.” Lydia twisted her tissue into shreds.

  More silence. More sips of tea. Then Declan ventured a statement.

  “Yet you and Rupert agreed to work with him.”

  Lydia’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want to, but Rupert had this idea Grayson should know the heartache he caused. It became almost an obsession. Besides, parts for the two of us don’t come along so often … ” her voice trailed off. “Rupert felt Grayson owed us those roles, you see.”

  “Lydia,” Declan asked, softening his voice, “did Rupert cut Grayson’s brake cables?”

  The woman’s head snapped up. “No! Rupert is a gentle man. He wanted Grayson to understand how we’d suffered. Having us around must be hard on him, but he never referred to Maggie when we auditioned, and so we didn’t, either.”

  “Did Rupert want the play to flop?”

  Lydia looked horrified. “NO! Rupert just wanted an opportunity to let loose on Grayson at some point.”

  There were raised voices from the dining room, and from across the hall they heard Rupert’s ringing tone: “You were responsible for her death, and now you have another life on your conscience!”

  Nora said, “I think he already has … ”