Rules of Murder (2 page)

He knew as he said it that he’d lied, but it was a lie of kindness. He couldn’t really respect anyone who let Constance walk over him as Mason did, but Drew did have a tremendous liking for him all the same.

“I expect you are the closest thing to a son I’ll ever have,” Mason said, “and I’ve a great deal of affection for you. I realize we’ve never been all that close, but I should like us to be friends if that suits you.”

Drew knew only too well how living with Constance could be. He remembered when Mason had courted his mother. He’d been recently widowed and there had been no children, no family save a young niece living somewhere in America—no one to fill the empty space in his life.

“I’d be more than honored, sir,” Drew said finally, and Mason gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s good to have you home again, my boy. The old place just isn’t the same without you.”

“I daresay I’ve livened things up a bit. I
am
sorry.”

“Well, never mind. It doesn’t matter now. But I wish you wouldn’t have such wrong ideas about your mother. You know how people love to gossip, especially those with little else to occupy them.”

“One of the hazards of being in society,” Drew agreed, but this time his smile had a touch of bitterness in it. “I just can’t bear to see her hurt you, sir.”

“I trust her.”

Silent for a moment, Drew watched a pair of robins hopping in and out of a flowering rhododendron.

“Well, I shan’t make any more scenes with your guests,” he said at last. “If you’re certain they’re
your
guests.”

“That’s good of you. Rushford will be in later today, and you can see for yourself.”

“Very well then. I’ll just have a pleasant time and play guest in my own home. It might be fun.” Drew waved away the plate of eggs his stepfather offered him and took another piece of toast instead. “Yes, it will be a change from drinking and dancing and strolling on the beach. Here, we can drink and dance and stroll in the garden.” He sighed in exaggerated contentment. “Ah, variety
is
the spice of life.”

“Perhaps you should come into business with me,” Mason suggested. “Farlinford is doing some excellent things with refining that might interest you. Could revolutionize the industry. And we’ve redone the directors’ offices. You should come have a look.”

Drew laughed. “I’ll do that, certainly, but I think I’m far too young yet to work for sport and not nearly that desperate. Oh, I say,” he added, sobering, “I read about McCutcheon in the news last week. He was in research, wasn’t he?”

Mason nodded. “Bad business, that. Such a young man, as well. He knew his way round a laboratory, though, and I can’t
imagine him making that sort of mistake. Not a man of his experience. It wasn’t a pretty way to go.”

“Did he have family?”

Mason shook his head. “No one in the world, it seems. Very sad.”

“I expect he was part of the new developments you were telling me about,” Drew said. “Anything especially good?”

“I don’t know,” Mason admitted. “He said he was on the verge of something big. Then again, he always said that. I never really saw anything come of it. Shame, really. He showed such promise.”

“Well, I remember precious little of my chemistry classes, but I’d not mind seeing what you do out at Farlinford. Perhaps I could help your little revolution. Still, not this weekend. I think I’d like to mingle with some new people for a bit. Maybe I’ll find that girl you were asking after.”

Mason stood up and tucked the morning paper under his arm. “That reminds me. My niece, Madeline, and some friends of hers from America will be driving down from London for a few days. Perhaps one of them will suit. It would be a great favor to me if you’d show them about the place a bit.”

Drew raised his teacup in a toast. “We aim to please.”

Once Mason had gone, Drew sat alone at the table until, seeing sturdy Mrs. Devon hovering at the terrace door, he stood up.

“Morning, Mrs. D. You haven’t come for the breakfast things, have you?”

“If you’ve done, Mr. Drew,” she said, scurrying out with a tray.

“What’s happened to Ivy?”

“Nothing at all, love,” Mrs. Devon said as she began stacking dirty plates. “I told her I’d clear away this morning. I wanted to make sure you had everything you wanted, your first morning back and all.”

“Yes, lovely, Mrs. D. You’re a wonder with the eggs as always. Nick’ll be sorry he slept in.”

“Oh no, sir. The scamp was in the kitchen before dawn, snatching bangers right from the skillet barely cooked through, if you please, and then out the door for the Lord knows what mischief.”

“Yes, the Lord and the Lord only,” Drew said with a laugh, and then a sudden clatter from the front of the house made them both jump. “That was never Nick.”

Drew hurried to the terrace railing and looked down over the front lawn. Coming up the drive with three girls crammed inside was a little roadster meant at best to seat two. The car lurched, making the girls giggle and shriek almost loud enough to cover the sound of the sputtering motor. About fifty feet further, the engine died and then kicked back into life amidst the jeers of the passengers and the driver’s half-growled cursing. Why a woman could never be trusted behind the wheel of an automobile, Drew didn’t know, but he was certain it was true nonetheless. When the car slowed to a stop, he went round to the front of the house and down the steps.

The driver waved, smiling up at him with wide blue eyes and a coquettish tilt to her bobbed blond head. “We’re here,” she called in a high, babyish voice that was a world away from the one she used for cursing.

“Welcome to Farthering Place, Miss Parker,” he said with polite reserve as he opened the car door for her.

All three of the girls giggled, but the dark-haired one in the middle looked swiftly away, pretending to look for something in her handbag. Realizing his error, Drew walked around the car and opened the passenger door.

“Miss Parker,” he repeated, reaching over to take the brunette’s hand.

She surprised him with an impish grin, a firm grip, and an intelligent pair of eyes that just happened to be the color of periwinkles. “You’ve found me out at last.”

“Hey, you found me out, too!” protested the girl to her left, the one Drew had unthinkingly crowded even further into the corner of the seat when he had reached over to Madeline.

“A thousand pardons,” he said, smiling at the diminutive redhead and bringing her to her feet with flourishing gallantry. He helped Madeline out next. The blonde at the wheel merely sat smiling at Drew, thrusting out her hand once he had released Madeline’s.

“Don’t forget baby,” she cooed.

“Have they named baby yet?” he asked, putting his hands contemplatively behind his back. “Or shall we simply put ‘Baby Girl Horwitz’ on your place card at dinner tonight?”

The other girls giggled again. With a knowing grin on her red lips, the blonde slid over to his side of the car and got to her feet, putting her arm through his.

“It’s Brower. Muriel. But
you
can call me Baby Girl. How ever do you drive these cars on the wrong side and everything? And, yes, I’d love you to show me the grounds.”

The little redhead rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

“Charmed, Miss Brower, I’m sure,” Drew said, smoothly disengaging her arm as he turned to the other girls. “And your other friend, Miss Parker?”

“Carrie Holland is the one you nearly crushed.”

“Think nothing of it,” the redhead said with a grin.

He found the grin infectious and gave her one of his own. “Miss Holland, a pleasure.”

Muriel sidled up next to him and took his arm once more. “Now you can show me your castle, sweetie, and we can go from there.”

“Perhaps we can arrange for the three of you to see the place after you’ve got settled in,” Drew said as he again disengaged himself. “For now, I’d best fetch someone to take up your luggage and—”

“Uncle Mason!”

Madeline hurried up the stone steps to give her uncle a warm hug.

“Madeline, dear, how lovely to see you again.” Mason drew her close to give her a fond kiss on the cheek. “And how nice to have your friends.”

After another swift round of introductions, they all went into the house. Following behind everyone else, Drew couldn’t help stealing another glance at Madeline Parker. She was tall, only three or four inches below his own six feet, gracefully slender and delightfully feminine. He’d seen the photograph on Mason’s desk—a gawky beanpole of a girl, pirouetting on the beach in Atlantic City and smiling hugely. There was a world of difference between twelve and twenty-two, no denying that.

Perhaps there was hope for the weekend after all.

U
ncle Mason immediately entrusted Madeline and her friends to the capable Mrs. Devon, and soon the girls found themselves settled into a trio of rooms at the sunny south wing of the house. Madeline thought hers was particularly lovely with its wide bay window and huge four-poster bed draped in pale blue damask. It managed to be opulent and rich and yet light and airy all at once. She could hardly wait until it came time to nestle under the heavy coverlet and fine linen sheets like a princess in a fairy tale.

“Imagine,” Muriel groused as she barged through the connecting door from the room she had been given, a copy of
Silver Screen
under her arm. “The three of us and only one bathroom. Is your room any better than mine?”

Madeline had been kneeling on the window seat, looking through the mullioned windows and admiring the lush rose gardens, but now she unfolded her long legs and swung around to sit on the edge of the seat and scowled at her friend.

The maid, a girl called Anna, looked up from her task of transferring Madeline’s delicate lingerie from a suitcase to a bureau. “Is there a problem, miss?”

“Don’t you mind her, honey,” Carrie told her, a hint of South Carolina drawl showing through. “Some people wouldn’t be happy in the governor’s mansion.”

“Yes, miss,” Anna said, and she stood up. “I’ll see your things are unpacked after luncheon has been served.”

“We’re lucky there isn’t just one bathroom for the whole floor,” Madeline observed once the girl was gone. “It’s not like these old places were originally built with them, you know.”

“And what’s wrong with these rooms?” Carrie demanded. “They look just like rooms in an old manor house should. Velvet drapes and fussy old wallpaper and carved furniture that’s been here just hundreds of years. I love my room. And did you see the view down toward the woods over there? It’s just dreamy.”

“I’ll tell you what’s dreamy,” Muriel confided to Madeline. “That cousin of yours. Mr. Farthering.”

Carrie breathed a little “ooh” of agreement.

Madeline laughed. Muriel always latched on to the best-looking man at hand. This time, though, Madeline didn’t feel like letting her have everything her own way. Besides the thick dark hair and arresting gray eyes, besides the undeniably handsome face, there was something about Drew Farthering that was worth more than a second look.

“Oh, is he attractive? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice,” Muriel muttered, smirking.

“Besides,” Madeline said, “he’s not actually my cousin, you know. Uncle Mason’s only his stepfather.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us about him before?” Carrie asked.

“I never met him till now.”

Muriel arched one finely penciled brow and lit a cigarette. “I’d say if there was any man I was glad was
not
my cousin, it would be that one. He’s adorable. What’s it they call him? Drew?”

Madeline nodded. “Short for Andrew, I think. But his first
name is something else, some stodgy family name he doesn’t like.”

“Drew’s fine by me,” Muriel said. “Adorable Drew. A real English gentleman and all that.”

“He’s probably like all the men, here and at home,” Madeline said with an airy wave of one hand. “Full of hot air and applesauce.”

“Who’s on the cover this time?” Carrie asked, snatching Muriel’s magazine. “Oh, Lucy Lucette. They’ll put anybody on there.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Muriel said. “I hear dear Lucy will do anything to get her name in the paper.”

“She’s got a new picture coming out, doesn’t she?
The Soiled Dove
?”

“No, they shelved that one ’cause they couldn’t get a backer. This is something about a cage.” Muriel reclaimed the magazine and flipped through the pages until she found what she wanted. “
Anabella’s Gilded Cage
. Sounds decadent.”

Shaking her head, Madeline went to the wardrobe, took out one of the evening gowns hanging there, and draped it over the bed.

Carrie “oohed” again and ran her hand over the pale green satin. “That’s not the one from Giselle’s, is it? Oh, you didn’t!”

“I did.”

“I thought you said it was too—”

“I changed my mind.”

Muriel came over to inspect the garment in question. “Pretty sporty, if you ask me. A little out of your league, isn’t it, doll?” She held it up against herself, dousing it in cigarette smoke as she did. “Now, on me it would be
trez chick
. And would the boys come running.”

“
Tres chic
,” Madeline corrected, taking the shimmering creation from her. “And why not on me? Uncle Mason had Madame Giselle create it especially for me, after all.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Madeline, honey,” Muriel said. “You’ve got the stuff all right. But you’re more the organdy type.” She clasped her hands in front of herself and somehow managed to look demure. “White organdy with little puffed sleeves and a bunch of violets at the waist.”

“Maybe forty years ago,” Madeline protested with a laugh, and she held the daring gown up before her reflected image, wondering what Aunt Ruth would think to see her in it. “It
is
pretty, isn’t it?”

“Pretty enough to make our Adorable Drew forget his stuffy English manners and sweep you off your feet.” Muriel grinned. “Unless I get to him first.”

“The poor kid,” Carrie said.

Lunch was served, buffet style, on the terrace. Madeline had hoped she and her friends would meet more of her uncle’s guests, but besides the three girls, only a few others had come to the table. The rest, having breakfasted late, had evidently decided to forgo the noon repast in favor of a hearty meal at teatime.

“Your uncle is meeting with his business partners for the afternoon,” Drew told her, “and my mother has gone out driving and to the shops in Winchester with Mrs. Chesterton and Mrs. Laney.”

“Oh, I had hoped to meet her right away.”

“She should be in well before the party tonight.” He picked up a plate for her at the serving table, and she couldn’t help noticing how nice his hands were, perfectly groomed but not overly fussy—like his clothes, stylish but unselfconsciously masculine.

“Would you care for kidneys?” he asked. “Veal? Hashed meat?”

She hesitated for a moment, uncertain what sort of meat
would be in the hash and revolted by the thought of eating kidneys. “The veal, please,” she said finally. “And some of that delicious-looking bread and cheese.”

“Excellent choice,” he said as he put some meat on her plate. “Now, which of the cheeses would you prefer? Red Leicester? Wensleydale? Cheddar?”

“The Lancashire.” A pleasant-looking young man with sandy hair came up beside them, and after tucking his paperbacked novel under his arm, helped himself to a large serving of a pale yellow cheese. “If I were three years marooned on a desert island, Miss Parker, this would be what I craved the most.”

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had lost his mind, and then she laughed. “
Treasure Island
! Oh, then I must have some of that.”

Drew shook his head and served her a portion of the cheese in question, along with a slice of hearty brown bread. “I regret, Miss Parker, that I cannot present to you Mr. Stevenson’s illustrious Ben Gunn. At the moment, all we have available is the equally unbalanced Nick Dennison. Mr. Dennison, Miss Madeline Parker.”

Nick took Madeline’s outstretched hand and made a flourishing bow over it. “Delighted, Miss Parker. And, before you ask, yes, the indomitable Dennison who serves as butler to Farthering Place has the honor of being my father.”

He smiled as he said it, but there was a hint of a challenge in his hazel eyes. He was waiting for her reaction. So, evidently, was Drew Farthering.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a literary man,” she said, squeezing his hand, and his smile warmed in return.

“Is that Stevenson you’re reading now?” she asked.

“This? Oh no.” Nick began helping himself to a variety of the hot dishes. “Do you like mysteries, Miss Parker?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she said, lowering her voice, “but I love them.”

“Capital!” Nick showed her the book he carried:
The Footsteps at the Lock
. “Have you read any Ronald Knox? I’ve only just started this one.”

“I haven’t heard of him,” Madeline admitted.

“Some priest chappie turned mystery writer. I just got through
The Three Taps
. He tells a ripping tale, Father Knox. He’s even got a list he calls his ‘Ten Commandments’ about what one should and shouldn’t put into a proper detective story. I think he’s jolly right, too.”

Madeline took the book from him, examining it. “Do you read, Mr. Farthering?”

“I manage to make out most of the words,” Drew said as he handed the plate to her and began filling his own.

Madeline pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “I mean, do you read mysteries? Have you read anything by Knox?”

He considered for a moment as he cut a slice of bread. “
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women
?”

She tried to look severe but managed only to laugh. “Not John Knox. Ronald Knox. Do you never say anything meant to be taken seriously?”

“On the contrary,” he said, “I’m quite a serious person.”

“Monumentally solemn,” Nick put in, reclaiming his book and tucking it into his coat pocket.

“Dare I say grim?” Drew asked, his expression thoughtful.

“I think you may go so far as grim,” Nick said, “provided you do not venture past that and on to moribund.”

“There,” Drew told Madeline in triumph. “What would such a dour fellow be doing reading so frivolous a thing as a mystery novel?”

Nick looked at Madeline and tapped the side of his nose knowingly, saying in a loud stage whisper, “I have it on the best of authorities that Mr. Farthering has a complete set of Doyle in his study, several of Mrs. Christie’s novels in his golf bag, and a stack of books by that Sayers woman in the boot of his car.”

“I won’t hear such outright falsehood!” Drew protested. “I’ve only got
Murder on the Links
in my golf bag. The rest of the Christies and all of the Sayerses are up in my study now, too.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Madeline exclaimed. “I love Lord Peter. I was just sure Harriet would break down and marry him at the end of
Strong Poison
.”

“Well, don’t despair,” Drew said. “I’ve heard Miss Vane is to return in Lord Peter’s new adventure, so all matrimonial hope is not lost.”

“Shall we sit down?” Nick asked. “I believe Miss Parker’s friends are missing her.”

“Let me introduce you to them, Mr. Dennison,” Madeline said.

“Yes, do that,” Drew told her, a hint of distraction in his voice. The butler was standing portentously at the terrace door, obviously waiting to speak to him. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Madeline watched him as he went to confer with Dennison.

“You and Mr. Farthering have known each other for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked Nick.

“All our lives. My mother was parlormaid here when I was born. When she died, Drew’s father was good enough to put me in the nursery with Drew and provide for me to be sent on to school with him up through Oxford. I can never repay either of them. I know my father will never leave here, and I suppose I’ll be around, as well.”

“Oh, really?”

Nick nodded. “Mr. Padgett, the estate manager, is letting me apprentice with him as it were. Totting up the bills, collecting rents, that sort of thing. Once he decides to chuck it all in, I’ll be next in line. It’s the least I can do for the old place, and fine use for my business studies, eh?”

“And Mr. Farthering—?”

“Joyous tidings,” Drew said, hurrying back up to them. “Denny informs me that Minerva is now a happy mother made.”

“Huzzah!” Nick cried. “Sound the trumpets and let the welkin ring! I had some sausages for her this morning and was wondering where she had got to.”

“Minerva?” Madeline looked from one to the other of them, wondering who this Minerva might be and why Dennison had brought this news particularly to Drew.

“Minerva,” Drew informed her, “is Farthering Place’s resident feline.”

“A cat?” Madeline laughed. “Dennison seemed awfully serious when he brought you the news.”

“He was. Most grave.”

“She’s all right, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes,” Drew said, adding one last spoonful of green peas to his plate. “She’s thriving, as are her five little ones.”

“Then what was he so concerned about?”

“It seems she gave birth in the cupboard in my dressing room.”

“Oh dear,” said Nick.

Madeline looked at him and then at Drew. “Is that so awful?”

“I’m afraid, to Denny, it’s no less than a tragedy,” Drew said. “It seems Minerva decided there was nothing more suitable in which to swaddle her newborns than my new cheviot trousers.”

“Shame,” Nick murmured, popping a bit of cheese into his mouth.

“Yes, it seems so,” Drew agreed, “especially since I told him
he’s not to move her off them for now. You’d think I’d suggested something reprehensible—murder or treason of some variety.”

Nick nodded solemnly. “Or serving the Rothschild with the fish course.”