Anne Perry - A Christmas Homecoming

“How extremely uncomfortable, and faintly ridiculous,” he replied. “Though I don’t believe that’s what you came to say. You have a look of purpose about your face. No doubt it is a grim purpose.”

“Extremely. The police will come and investigate Mr. Ballin’s death, when the snow thaws. I think it would be very much more pleasant for us if we could solve it before then.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Really? And how do you propose to do that? I do remember you saying, several times, that your son-in-law was some kind of policeman. Did you take lessons from him?” He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

She sat down in the chair opposite him. “If you disagree, I am perfectly happy to see if we can clear everyone else, Vincent. It may be one of the servants, although I think that is very unlikely. Or one of the Netheridges, of course. Whom do you think the police will suspect? Mr. Netheridge, owner of the coal mine and the jet factory and philanthropist to half the county, or someone from a group of London actors here to perform Dracula for Christmas?”

Vincent stared at her, his face pale and tight as he realized immediately the truth of what she said.

“You have a tongue like a knife, Caroline,” he observed, but his voice was shaking, in spite of his usual inner control. “I can’t prove where I was at the time he was killed, which was obviously after we all said good night, and whenever it was you went back to the theater.”

“Midnight,” she told him.

“I was in bed, but no one can prove it for me. Thank God I won’t be the only one in that situation.”

The next person Caroline saw was Douglas Paterson. She found him on the landing, staring out at the snow. He turned as he heard her footsteps. He looked withdrawn and anxious.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fielding,” he said, almost without expression. “Not long till dark again. Do you think we’ll have more snow tonight?”

She stood beside him and looked at the sky. The light was fading quite rapidly. It was barely past the shortest day of the year, but there was considerable color in the sunset. Banners of cloud streamed across the west, and the red of the sinking sun blushed on the snow.

“No, I don’t,” she answered. “I think we might even get a thaw soon, at least enough to allow people to reach us, perhaps in time for Christmas.”

“You can’t put on that play now, you know,” he said with just a trace of satisfaction.

Caroline was caught by an intense desire to both protect Alice’s dreams, and deflate this pompous young man.

“Not here,” she agreed. “At least certainly not this Christmas. But she has made such a good job of it that I think we may wish to perform it some time in the provinces, or even in London. After all, Dracula is a most popular work all over the country. And we could always bring it back to Yorkshire at a more appropriate time.” She saw his face pale and smiled at him sweetly. “Knowing how you love Alice and want her to be happy, I hope that is of comfort to you.”

He looked back at her with a fury that he was momentarily helpless to express.

“I am hoping we may forestall the police, at least to some extent,” she continued. “They are bound to ask us all where we were when Mr. Ballin was killed. Some of us are fortunate enough to have been with someone else at the time, and therefore our whereabouts are vouched for. Would that be true for you as well?”

She saw the anger turn to satisfaction in his eyes.

“Yes. I was with Miss Rye,” he said instantly.

There was nothing funny in their situation; still, she could not help allowing her eyebrows to rise as if in horror, though in truth she was not at all surprised. “Really?” she said in a breathless whisper. “And will Miss Rye be willing to say that publicly, do you suppose? I doubt Alice will be amused, and Mr. and Mrs. Netheridge will be most displeased indeed.”

His satisfaction vanished. He blushed scarlet with embarrassment and real, deep outrage.

“Your mind is most … deplorable, Mrs. Fielding!” His voice shook. “I dare say it is the company you keep.”

“I was with my husband, Mr. Paterson,” she replied, angry in turn now. “Or do I mistake you? Perhaps you had a chaperone you omitted to mention? Alice herself, even?”

He swallowed hard, his face still burning. “No … no, we were alone, in the morning room. We … we were discussing Alice’s love of the theater, and Miss Rye was assuring me that it is not nearly as glamorous as Alice assumes. She herself is weary of it, and envies Alice’s opportunity to settle down to a happy married life in a respectable society, with a husband and family.”

And money, Caroline thought, but she did not say so. It occurred to her how much more suitable it would be for everyone if Lydia married Douglas, and Alice came to London with the players. Lydia’s roles could be filled easily enough by another aspiring actress, and Alice would be an asset to the writing and producing side of the business. More important for both of them, and for Douglas, they would all be happier.

“It seems as if Lydia and Alice each desires what the other has,” Caroline said more gently. “Perhaps they should exchange places.”

“I can’t marry an actress!” Douglas said in horror. But even as the words left his lips there was a change in his attitude, a new brightness in his eyes. The anger seeped out of him as if by magic.

“Well, she isn’t an heiress, of course,” Caroline agreed. “But that has its advantages as well. There is something very liberating in owing no one, Mr. Paterson. I made a very rash judgment in marrying Mr. Fielding, but I have never regretted it, even for an hour. I have had some difficult times. I have been cold and hungry and very far from home, but I have never been bored or lonely, or felt as if my life had no meaning. I have lost certain friends—or perhaps in truth they were really no more than acquaintances—but I have gained friends who are of worth, and I have contributed to something of value. I don’t think I have ever been so happy before, even when I had considerable money, social position, and a very beautiful house. But then one person’s happiness is not necessarily the same as another’s.”

He lowered his eyes very slowly. “I apologize, Mrs. Fielding. I was extremely rude. I am afraid of losing what I know, and have always believed I wanted. I was afraid of Mr. Ballin because he lured Alice away from me into another kind of world, but I did not kill him. I was with Lydia. If you ask her, I’m sure she will tell you.” He gave a rueful smile and met her eyes again. “If I was with her, then she was also with me. We were in the morning room until you went back up the stairs again to your room to tell Mr. Fielding about Ballin. I know that because we heard your footsteps and I looked out the door to see who it was, so we could go upstairs unobserved. We had not realized how late it was, and we felt it would be indiscreet to be seen.”

“So it would,” she agreed. “What was I wearing?”

“A … a pink dressing robe, and your hair was loose down your back. It is rather longer than it looks to be.”

She nodded slowly. “It is fortunate you chose that particular moment to look. Thank you.”

“I … er …”

“You have no need to explain yourself further,” she told him. “I shall confirm it with Lydia, and we shall be able to keep the police from bothering you—I hope.”

“Mrs. Fielding!”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She said nothing, but smiled a little bleakly and nodded.

t was after dark. Outside the wind had dropped, and the frost was bitter when Caroline spoke to the housemaid who usually changed her bed linen and tidied the room. She had come in to give Caroline clean towels, but after she had put them on the rail she stopped a moment, clearly wishing to speak. She was a handsome girl, but her face was troubled. She kept moving her hands, rubbing one with the other softly.