Fatal Masquerade Read online

  Mrs Zeilovsky looked her over. ‘Is it forbidden to walk in the gardens?’

  ‘Did you go to the boathouse? Did you see Cobb?’

  Mrs Zeilovsky shook her head. ‘I wanted to take a boat ride, I admit. But once I was walking I felt the wind was quite chilly and I was worried it would be even more so on the water. I went back to the house via the walk by the roses.’

  ‘You seemed to be followed by a man.’

  ‘Followed?’ Mrs Zeilovsky’s voice pitched a moment as if the remark startled her. ‘What man?’

  ‘I couldn’t recognize him.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have been a coincidence. There were many guests around. Now, if you will excuse me...’

  Mrs Zeilovsky stepped down with a languid movement and sailed past them. ‘I’m starving,’ she said in a forced light tone. ‘There must be some breakfast somewhere.’

  ‘More like lunch,’ Jake called after her, but she didn’t respond.

  ‘Peculiar type,’ Jake said to Alkmene. ‘Brainwashed by her husband if you ask me. It’s not normal for someone to have no response at all to the idea of a girl being strung up for a crime she didn’t commit. Anyone with a bit of feeling in their bones would sense the injustice in that.’

  ‘I have the strong impression she doesn’t really like her husband,’ Alkmene said. ‘So why would she be brainwashed by him? Perhaps she’s only reciting nice little theories to prevent us from finding out about her feelings about the case. Her personal involvement with Cobb maybe? She could be lying when she claims she never went near the boathouse. Perhaps Cobb winked at her over the pre-dinner drinks, like he did me, and she believed he would be in for a romantic evening.’

  Jake studied her. ‘Do you think a woman like her would be interested in something so irrational and clinical as an affair?’

  Alkmene shrugged. ‘Zeilovsky told me we can even lie to ourselves about what we really want. He said I might have gone to the boathouse, telling myself it was for a boat trip when what I really wanted was an adventure with Cobb. The same could apply to his wife.’

  ‘Zeilovsky said that to you? No wonder you don’t like him.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Alkmene said. ‘We should have asked her why she said to Mrs Carruthers that something she did was dangerous. That might have helped more than all of this.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I doubt Mrs Zeilovsky would have given us the time of day, whatever we had asked her. She doesn’t believe in what she calls “our little investigation”. But we have work to do. We have to uncover the lock into which our found key can fit. And I have an idea how we might go about that.’

  Alkmene followed him, surprised, in the direction of the kitchens. The indignant Mrs Carruthers was nowhere to be seen. A cook was chopping leek, while a maid even younger than Megan was polishing cutlery. On the table before her was an array of spoons, forks and… knives.

  Alkmene took a quick look and discerned the same handle she had seen on the steak knife in Cobb’s chest. She shivered involuntarily.

  Jake said to the cook, ‘Did Mr Cobb smoke?’

  The cook looked up. ‘Oh yes. It was terrible, the smell on his clothes, it was. And him always being out and about to smoke when he was supposed to attend to his duties.’

  ‘Do you know where he went when he wanted to smoke? I assume it was forbidden inside the house?’

  ‘Yes, of course, for the stench. Cheap cigarettes or those horrible cigars. He always went out that door...’ She pointed to a door in the far wall. ‘Up the steps and then left. If you follow the wall, there’s a small alcove. It was usually there, although sometimes he also ventured into the gardens. He was really brash, he was.’

  Jake thanked her and led Alkmene out of the door. ‘I suspected he was a smoker. I smelled something like it when I leaned over the body.’

  ‘You saw the body up close? Too bad you didn’t check for puncture wounds yourself,’ Alkmene said sweetly.

  Jake grimaced at her. ‘I didn’t touch anything. I just wanted to see his face up close in case there was anything odd about it, or a scent that was off that might betray where he had been before coming to the boathouse. The smoke scent was rather strong.’

  Alkmene nodded. They were outside now, moving along the wall of the house until they came to the alcove. Small plants had found a place among the rough stone, and a bird that had been pecking at insects hiding between the elements flew off with an indignant chirp.

  Alkmene looked around her. ‘It’s unexpectedly peaceful here. Maybe Cobb was more than just a lecher who lived for his women and his cheap cigars.’

  ‘Oh, he was more all right.’ Jake was inspecting the stones inside the alcove. ‘Cobb used his smoking to get away from the other servants. He always came to this same place. Look at all the cigarette stubs lying around. But did he just like the tranquility here? I doubt it. He came here for a purpose, I bet. Aha.’

  ‘Have you got something?’ Alkmene peered over his shoulder.

  Jake’s fingers were prodding inside a cavity between two stones. Bits of mortar dropped to the floor as he was at it. It seemed to be hard, for he grunted in frustration.

  Alkmene asked, ‘Are you sure that can actually be moved? If not, you’re just wrecking your hands.’

  ‘Thanks for the concern.’ Jake retracted his hand and sucked at his index finger. ‘This isn’t what I’m looking for.’

  Alkmene suppressed a smile. It was gratifying that Jake hadn’t struck lucky on his first attempt. But she also realized, with a sobering queasiness in her stomach, that they had very little time to free the innocent Megan from the snare she was caught in and needed a break soon.

  Jake went on checking all of the stones forming the alcove wall. Alkmene looked out for anybody coming upon them suddenly who might think their actions suspicious.

  She heard a scrape of stone on stone and turned round with a jerk. Jake was pulling something towards him. ‘Cobb must have been pretty strong to be able to move this,’ he grunted.

  ‘Do you need help?’ Alkmene tried to manoeuvre into the alcove beside him but Jake hissed, ‘Don’t. If I drop this, it could land on my foot. Limping, I’m not worth anything to you.’

  Alkmene held her breath as Jake lowered a heavy stone to the floor. He supported himself on it for a few moments to steady his breathing.

  Then he put his hands into the gap where the stone had been. ‘Success!’

  He pulled out a small metal box and placed it on top of the removed stone. He extracted the key he had found in Cobb’s quarters from his pocket and put it in the lock.

  It was a perfect fit.

  Jake turned it, and the lock snapped open. He squatted beside the stone and lifted the lid of the box. Alkmene leaned over his shoulder to see what was in it. She expected money, bearer bonds, paperwork.

  Inside the box were three bottles of dark glass. Jake lifted one out. The light fell on the label. Laudanum.

  ‘So Cobb was a user of some sort of medication,’ Alkmene said. ‘Just like you supposed. Only not by injecting it into his arms but by taking drops of it.’

  Jake checked the bottle, a doubtful expression on his face. ‘This bottle is untouched. So are the other two. Three brand-new bottles of laudanum locked away in a box in a secret hiding place. What for?’

  Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘His stash for later?’

  ‘What was he using at the time of his death then?’ Jake looked up at her. ‘We didn’t see any laudanum in his room.’

  ‘He could have concealed the bottle he was using.’

  Jake nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

  Alkmene prodded him. ‘Look what else is in there. I see papers. Those might be far more revealing.’

  ‘Right.’ Jake put the bottles beside him on the ground and reached into the box to extract a stack of papers.

  Alkmene tried to read what was on the top sheet. ‘What’s that? It looks like a foreign language. It doesn’t make any sense.
’

  Jake lifted the top sheet to study the one underneath. ‘It’s the same. Rows of letters that don’t seem to have meaning.’

  He returned to the top sheet and focused on it with a frown. ‘Do you see the first line?’

  Alkmene peered hard. ‘It’s numbers. 29-5. Is it a date? The 29th of May?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I think it’s the key.’

  ‘What key?’

  ‘These are notes in code. The letters each stand for a different letter of the alphabet and you can only know which one if you know the key. The numbers 29-5 refer to something, a book probably, that Cobb used to write it down this way. Someone he passed the notes to would know what the numbers referred to and could then break the code down to read the message.’

  ‘I see.’ Alkmene was impressed. ‘Cobb really was something. Maybe a spy for the government? Maybe he had to report what Hargrove was doing with his aviation ideas. He was working on some new engine, correct? Maybe not for private companies, but for army purposes?’

  Jake looked up at her. ‘Cobb as an agent for the secret service? I find that kind of hard to believe. He would have behaved with more discretion.’

  ‘Or his behaviour was just an act to cover up his very serious reason for being here. If he worked for someone who believed Hargrove was perhaps… selling out to an enemy force… his death takes on a whole new meaning.’

  Jake’s expression was grim as he put the papers and bottles back into the box. ‘I’ll have to take this to a friend of mine in London. He’s an expert with code and can soon tell us what it all means.’ He rose, wincing as his stiff knees locked.

  Alkmene studied him. ‘Why did Hargrove ask you to come here, Jake? You can’t hide it from me for ever. I want to know. And in the light of our new discovery, I might even have to know.’

  Jake looked at her. She had never seen him so serious before. ‘I told you earlier I gave Hargrove my word I would keep quiet about my reasons for being here. To everybody. That includes you. The murder may not be related to the matter he engaged me for. I cannot break my promise to him.’

  ‘Why not? He treated you badly, denying you the right to be present when the suspects were questioned and involving that sinister psychiatrist instead. Something major could be afoot here. You have to tell me why he wanted you to come. Whom he wanted you to keep an eye on.’

  Jake clenched the metal box. ‘I have to go by my gut feeling here, Alkmene. I don’t think the two things are related. I have to keep my word, even though Hargrove hasn’t been forthcoming with me. Don’t look like that. You’d do the same if you’d promised Denise something.’

  Alkmene bit her lip. To be honest, she felt alienated from her best friend and, as she stood there, she wondered what she would have done if Denise had confided in her about something. Would she really have kept it from Jake, her partner, her confidant, the man who had saved her life on several occasions?

  She trusted him beyond anybody else alive.

  The idea he didn’t feel the same way about her and was putting his promise to Hargrove over their bond hurt.

  Hurt worse than Alkmene had imagined possible.

  Was she getting too attached to Jake? He was a man – he didn’t feel the same way probably.

  She forced a smile. ‘I’m curious what your friend in London can come up with. You’d better drive out right away.’

  Jake surveyed her. ‘Can I trust that you won’t be getting into any trouble while I’m gone? This…’ He held up the box. ‘It seems to suggest Cobb wasn’t an ordinary blackmailer who hit on a little secret and used it against the person concerned. He collected a whole stack of notes and even kept them coded so somebody discovering this box wouldn’t be able to make any sense of his scribbling. He might have been involved in something big and dangerous.’

  ‘Like the ring of the London blackmailer?’

  ‘Possibly. Whatever it was, it got him killed. I don’t want you to be next.’

  Alkmene smiled widely. ‘I’ll be as good as gold while you’re gone. You go now. The sooner you’re back with news, the better.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake had left, promising he’d be back before nightfall. ‘My friend can call me with the results,’ he had said at the car. ‘I don’t want you to be here alone.’

  Alkmene had assured him she would be fine, but deep down inside she had been happy Jake wasn’t to be away for long. The atmosphere in the house was tense, as if something was brewing. And she wasn’t quite sure where the danger was coming from.

  From whom.

  She needed Jake by her side.

  However, dinner was over already, coffee had been served in the music room, and there was no trace of Jake. Alkmene could feel several pairs of eyes upon her as she stood at the window, staring down the drive, willing a car to come up to the house. But nothing stirred in the dying light.

  As she turned round and scanned the people present, nobody was watching her at all.

  Denise was at the piano studying a new piece of music with Keegan.

  Zeilovsky read a book while his wife and Mrs Hargrove discussed society gossip.

  Alkmene was surprised to hear how well informed Mrs Zeilovsky was.

  Hargrove sat by the fireplace staring into the flames, the newspaper forgotten on his knee. Ever since the murder he’d seemed morose, unwilling to be drawn into light conversation.

  A sudden knock at the door startled Alkmene. Her hands began to tingle, and sweat formed on her neck, as if she expected it to be bad tidings about Jake.

  The butler came in and spoke to Hargrove, who rose at once and followed him out of the room.

  Everybody sat up and followed his progress until the door shut behind him.

  In the uncomfortable silence Mrs Hargrove said, ‘Probably some phone call about a business matter. It always is.’

  Nobody seemed convinced.

  Denise rose from the piano stool, saying she had a headache, and disappeared upstairs.

  Keegan hung about for a few more minutes, obviously not seeing anyone he really wanted to talk to, and excused himself as well.

  Mrs Zeilovsky said it had been a long day and took her leave, while her husband now put his book aside and turned to Mrs Hargrove, asking how she felt about physical punishment as part of a child’s upbringing.

  Mrs Hargrove stared at him in mild surprise. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I assume you have thought about the subject. As you are going to be a mother soon.’ Zeilovsky let his gaze travel across Mrs Hargrove’s person.

  She flushed to the roots of her hair.

  ‘Do you think,’ Zeilovsky said, ‘that a parent is entitled to beat a child?’

  Mrs Hargrove swallowed.

  Alkmene said, ‘Entitled?’

  Zeilovsky glanced at her. ‘I would even say, Lady Alkmene, that a parent is obliged. Isn’t it a sacred duty to make sure children are raised so they become responsible adults?’

  ‘I suppose so, but that can be achieved without physical violence.’

  Zeilovsky shook his head. ‘Where the upbringing is soft, the results are horrendous. Weak parents create spoiled children who are just takers, not givers. We all have a responsibility to give to the world.’

  ‘Hand out a good spanking, you mean?’ Alkmene asked innocently.

  Zeilovsky glared at her. ‘A parent must do what is best for the child, even if, at the time, that is painful. But it is for a greater good.’ He rose abruptly. ‘Bear that in mind.’

  He quit the room in a flurry.

  Mrs Hargrove exhaled.

  Alkmene looked at her. ‘If you don’t like him, why did you invite him here?’

  She shrugged. ‘My husband wanted it. He decides those things, not me.’ She reached up and rubbed her arms. ‘I’m glad he’s not a physician. If he had to assist me, I would go mad.’

  ‘You are...’ Alkmene looked for a polite way to phrase the delicate question.

  Mrs Hargrove smiled. A bleak, worried smi
le. ‘I suspect it is so. But it’s too early to speak of it to anyone. So many things can happen.’

  ‘Still, Zeilovsky seemed to know.’

  ‘He’s only guessing. He enjoys throwing people off balance by his odd remarks. Like he can see into their heads.’ Mrs Hargrove laughed uncomfortably. ‘He is an odd man, but my husband has the utmost confidence in him. He feels like… he has no other choice.’

  Alkmene frowned at the peculiar tone of her voice. ‘It struck me that Zeilovsky claimed he had an alibi for the time of the murder because he had been with your husband all the time since the ball began. What on earth were they talking about?’

  Mrs Hargrove shrugged. ‘He hasn’t told me. But if they both say so, it must be true.’

  It sounded insincere.

  Alkmene asked softly, ‘Does Zeilovsky have some kind of hold on the family?’

  She looked up, wide-eyed. ‘Hold? What on earth do you mean?’ As if starting to wake from a bad dream, she rose. ‘I’d better go up. It’s been a very unsettling day for all of us. I’d appreciate it if we spoke no more of it. Goodnight.’

  And she quit the room.

  Alkmene leaned back and sighed. Had Zeilovsky just guessed that Mrs Hargrove was pregnant, and was he already putting lots of nonsense about upbringing into Mr Hargrove’s head? It was no secret that Hargrove ached for a son, and he might be open to advice on how best to raise this coveted heir to all of his business empire.

  Alkmene didn’t deny that a lot would depend on the boy’s character and his ability to handle the wealth and influence offered to him from a young age. She knew too well from examples in her circle how privilege could make young men weak and undecided, turning them into empty pleasure seekers who drove their parents to distraction. The Honourable Freddie Salton was the best example of a young man who had it all but could make nothing work out, spilling money like water and ruining every chance anybody had ever offered him, out of pity for his poor parents, who despaired of their son ever ending up decent.

  But what was Denise’s part in all of this? Did she know, or suspect, at least, that her stepmother was pregnant? Did that make her sad and eager to break all ties with her parental home, and move away with this comte who pretended to care for her?