The Mystery of Ruby's Sugar (Ruby Dove Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

  Charles let out a whoosh of air, as if he were unburdening himself from a great weight. “Well, miss, as Master Granville will be graduating Oxford early, in anticipation of his move to join his father in the Caribbean, he decided to plan this weekend as a graduation-cum-Christmas celebration of sorts.” Charles placed an emphasis on the word Oxford – an emphasis that indicated great derision.

  Deciding to file away this information for later, Fina continued, “So, these guests are affiliated with Oxford? We just finished the term. I submitted my final paper – or I should say, Ruby submitted my final paper this morning,” she said, patting the shoulder of her friend.

  Through the rear-view mirror, Fina saw the stricken look on Charles’ face as he realised his blunder.

  “Oh, do forgive me, miss. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Ruby plunged forward, seemingly sensing his embarrassment.

  “I’m simply dying to know if we’re acquainted with any of these other guests because of the Oxford connection.”

  “Right, miss,” said Charles, releasing his clenched jaw. “There’s Cyril Lighton, a don at Oxford. I’m not sure of his area of study. I do know there are rumours he is a radical of some sort.”

  Fina noticed that he said the word ‘radical’ without the usual derision reserved for that term, and decided that she liked this Charles.

  He continued. “Then there’s Leslie Dashwood, a friend of Granville’s from Oxford. Mr Dashwood works with the Brownshirts.”

  A fascist! Ruby and Fina exchanged a wary glance as they crested the hill. The car sputtered a bit – though in a manner befitting a Rolls – choking at the incline.

  Crunch. Fina fell against Ruby as they came to a halt.

  “So sorry. I’ll scrape the window to remove the ice and snow before we continue down this hill,” he said, slamming the door as he stepped out.

  Pushing her hat back into place, Ruby whispered, “This Charles is a peculiar sort of driver. He seems a cut above, judging by the way he speaks.”

  “I had the same thought myself!” responded Fina. “Did you see his reaction when we mentioned Oxford?”

  Click. The car door opened to reveal a ruddy-faced Charles. “I apologize for the delay, ladies. Not long now.”

  At the bottom of what must be a lush green valley in the summer, she saw an imposing, but strangely compact Elizabethan manor house. Fina thought Pauncefort looked rather like a gift box, without the ribbon to offer colour. The snow blanketed the grounds, with drifts already kissing the bottom windowpanes as a result of the freshening wind.

  As the Rolls came to a halt in front of the grey stone facade, an impressively coifed older man approached them with a glide that defied the presence of ice on the drive.

  “Grimston, our faithful butler,” Charles said with notable fondness.

  Grimston offered to help the women out of the car and into the warmth, while Charles unloaded their luggage. Skidding on the ice, Ruby entered the hall a few steps behind Fina.

  “Miss Dove, how splendid to meet you at last!” said a cascading, beautiful voice. Fina looked up from her feet to see a weeping-willow of a woman – tall, rail thin, but not frail. Her cobalt brocade dress with a high collar framed her triangular face and gave her an added air of formality. Fina judged her understated but exquisitely fashionable. The one defiant touch was her long, dark hair, swept up in an inexplicably rakish yet pleasing chignon. Her green eyes held no hint of her personality, though her primly pursed lips clashed with the warmth of her voice. “I’m Charlotte Sykes-Duckworth. Welcome to Pauncefort.”

  “Oh, Lady Charlotte, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m Fina Aubrey-Havelock, a friend and assistant to Ruby Dove,” replied Fina, as the familiar warmth crept up her neck and into her cheeks like ivy growing around a tree.

  Ruby stepped forward and held out her gloved hand to Charlotte. “So pleased to meet you, Lady Charlotte.”

  Jolted out of her composure, Charlotte rapidly opened her lips and closed them again, like a hungry goldfish. Her eyes widened momentarily.

  Not missing a beat, Ruby said, “I expect you may have never met someone whose mother is a real native of St Kitts.” She said it calmly, without challenge, though the statement clearly needed no emotion to bolster it.

  Fina was quite accustomed to Lady Charlotte’s mistake, followed by the reaction to her friend’s appearance. A twinge of guilt flitted through her stomach at her inward pleasure at the discomfort Ruby caused among the aristocracy.

  “I, ah, well… My family, you see…” Charlotte faltered, then recovered. “Yes, of course I have. As you must know, my family has business interests in the Caribbean.” She continued, as if nothing had happened, and said, “So pleased to meet you at last. I cannot wait to see what you have in store for my wardrobe! And please do call me Charlotte.” Her mask of formality had been lowered again, beginning with her half-closed eyelids. What was hidden behind those eyelids? Was this just a typical aristocratic distance? No, surely not, thought Fina. There was something definitely incongruous about Lady Charlotte’s facade.

  Lowering her hunched shoulders, Charlotte continued on with a momentum that Fina thought must surely be a mark of her personality. “Now, you must be tired from your journey. I’ll have Grimston show you to your rooms on the second floor. You can unpack, and then ring the bell and the maid will show you to my room. I’d like for you to see my wardrobe first so we can match it with the latest fashions. Are you peckish?”

  “Thank you – we had a delicious meal on the train,” replied Ruby.

  Ruby and Fina followed Grimston’s rapid, yet precise steps to the second floor. Pauncefort Hall, despite its somewhat bleak exterior, had a cheery warmth about it, appropriate to Christmastime. Fina felt her mood shift as she inhaled the air, redolent with nutmeg.

  As they rounded the first staircase, Fina asked, “Grimston, the decorations are delightful. Do you do this every year?”

  “Yes, miss. The Earl insists on full Yuletide decorations every year,” he said, pointing at the sprigs of mistletoe in each doorway they passed. “The Countess directs the decoration, of course…” He trailed off, apparently assuming this was self-explanatory.

  Fina shot an enquiring look at Ruby. “Didn’t you say he was in St Kitts?” she murmured, slowing down so that Grimston would move out of hearing range.

  “That’s Charlotte’s father, Henry,” Ruby whispered. “He only comes back once a year or so. The Countess is his younger sister, and she and the Earl manage the household while Henry – Lord Malvern – is abroad.”

  It’s all very well for some, thought Fina as she took in the darkly gleaming panelling of the wide hallway and the soft hues of the Persian rugs that lined the floor. A sudden shaft of light made them leap into full colour as Grimston opened the door to Fina’s bedroom.

  “Eee… it’s lovely!” she squeaked. Grimston’s face remained impassive, though Fina swore she saw a flicker of his eyelids. “This is the most beautiful room I will have ever slept in,” she said, halting with embarrassment about her remarks revealing her background. Though her double-barrelled surname signalled status and wealth, Fina’s only inheritance was debt. She was as poor as one of those proverbial church mice. Her mind wandered back to Donegal, picturing her grandmother hunched over her favourite books. She said a prayer of thanks to her for helping her get to Oxford.

  A fire crackled in the fireplace which was adorned with juniper trimmings. On the mantel, she saw a row of robin-egg blue miniature teacups. The room was painted an unusual rich mahogany colour with sage green accents. The large, plush four-poster bed in the middle of the room looked inviting, especially after the many weeks spent on the unforgiving mattress at college. Resisting the urge to flounce onto the bed, she turned to thank Grimston. He had already floated out of the room.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed with a sigh, she heard a light tap at the adjoining door. Before she could rise to open it, Ruby tiptoed in. A velvet bag Fina knew to be he
r design kit, slung casually over her shoulder, indicated she was ready to depart for Charlotte’s room.

  “Isn’t this a sumptuous room? I wouldn’t call the Queen my aunt,” said Fina in a whisper, her eyes large and shining. Ruby smiled. “Yes, it is. My room is lovely as well. But what do you mean about the Queen?”

  “Ah, it’s just an Irish saying. It means that nothing could improve the situation.”

  “I wish we weren’t here to work so we could really enjoy it. But we haven’t much time before we go to Charlotte’s consultation,” Ruby said in a hushed tone that mimicked Fina’s.

  “Why are we whispering?”

  “Good point. I suppose it’s good practise for what we’re about to do,” replied Ruby.

  She removed her bag and rummaged around inside it until she found a box of cards, decorated in an ornate pattern with a rather impulsive-looking King on one side and an impudent Jack on the other. Fina looked at her quizzically. Signalling to Fina to put out her hands, Ruby opened the flap and turned it over, dropping the deck into her cupped hands.

  Fina cradled the cards as if they were the Holy Grail, waiting for the next set of instructions. Ruby plucked the deck from her hands and fanned them out toward her friend. Fina spied a folded piece of paper among the blue and white patterned cards.

  Unfolding the accordion-like paper revealed a floor plan of Pauncefort Hall. Fuzzy blood-red dots adorned some of the rooms.

  “I assume the dots represent the rooms where the papers are likely to be found,” said Fina, feeling proud of herself for her mental acuity, especially given her lack of sleep.

  Ruby nodded. “A friend of mine who knows one of the maids here made out the map – under false pretences, of course. After we begin the initial consultation with Charlotte, I’ll say that I don’t need you to stay and that you can take a nap if you’d like.”

  “What should I say after that?”

  “Then you’ll refuse and say that you’d like to wander around a bit. That’s when you can start to make your way through the rooms. Begin with the bedrooms that are marked because we won’t be able to access them after guests arrive. We’ll have to search the study and other rooms downstairs this evening – after everyone is asleep.”

  Gently murmuring her assent, Fina asked, “What are we looking for, exactly?”

  “I’m not certain what form the papers will take – if they’ll be located in an obvious place or locked away in a safe – but I can tell you about the general contents. As I mentioned, the papers concern Granville Sykes-Duckworth’s involvement in the sugar company and the St Kitts rebellion. The rebellion happened in Bluegate in March of 1933, and the company’s name is Lavington’s. There is also a London office, so keep that in mind when looking for addresses.”

  Fina cocked her head to one side. “Why wouldn’t Granville simply burn the papers? Why keep something so damaging to him and the company?”

  Ruby’s hands clenched. “Because it’s his insurance. I’m sure others would like to get their hands on them – let’s call them the Bluegate papers. If they were released, the scandal would bring down Lavington’s entire sugar empire, not only in St Kitts, but also in other places in the Caribbean. All the other sugar importers would love to see Lavington’s fall so they could claw back some of the market.”

  “But why would Granville keep the Bluegate papers if they’re so incriminating?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t the only one. He knows that if their truth is accepted, these papers will also bring down half the senior staff of the company, not to mention the various authority figures who have turned a blind eye. Those papers are his safety net. As long as he has them, the company is forced to promote him and no one can be held responsible for all of the deaths at the hands of this horrid company.”

  “I see,” said Fina. “So other guests may have dual purposes this weekend? Maybe they represent industrial competitors? Or have other interests?”

  “Perhaps,” said Ruby. “We’ll have to be patient – it takes time to find an ant’s belly.”

  3

  Inside Charlotte’s cavernous dressing room, Ruby and Fina stared at a bewildering array of gowns. They were strewn in heaps like islands of colour against the calm blue walls. Fina’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I apologize for the state of my room,” said Charlotte, clenching her jaw. “I just wasn’t sure where to begin, so I thought I’d pull out everything so you could see what I had already.”

  Fina saw Ruby’s shoulders relax. Clearly, Charlotte expected her to take charge. Remembering a particularly nasty incident in Paris, involving a snooty, one-foot-in-the-grave Duchess and her ever-widening waistline and wardrobe, Fina was grateful for Charlotte’s attitude. She supposed it was to be expected that their clients were demanding, but really, had it been necessary to demand that Ruby recite the material used in every Chanel frock from the previous season?

  “You have so many beautiful pieces,” Ruby said, skimming her fingers over a peach silk evening gown. “But I think we should start from scratch and envision what you want your finished wardrobe to look like. Then we may return to what you already have and keep what fits.”

  “Splendid!” said Charlotte, sighing with relief. “Let’s sit down here,” she said, pointing to a Victorian set of high-backed chairs in the corner.

  As Charlotte perched erect on the edge of the chair, Fina thought she looked as if someone were pushing her off the seat. Her hands sat in a tight ball in her lap. Was she nervous about her clothes or something else entirely? Wasn’t a wardrobe fitting supposed to be a delight rather than a trial?

  Peering out the window at the light snowfall – normally a pleasant sight – only raised Fina’s own anxiety about her mission. Seizing on a moment of silence she said, “I know I am more helpful once we get to the actual design and sewing stage for individual pieces. Why don’t I leave you two alone to talk?”

  Ruby pulled out her favourite sketchbook, signalling approval of Fina’s suggestion. Fina continued, “I would love to take a peek around Pauncefort. The design and colours are sublime. Would you object to me poking about a bit?”

  “Of course, Miss Aubrey-Hav – I mean, Fina. Please do. Guests will arrive soon, but I imagine you’ll just miss them before they settle into their rooms. Cocktails will be served at six in the drawing room.”

  As she closed the door gently behind her, she heard Ruby say, “You’ll love this evening cape with an emerald lining…”

  Though Fina knew she wasn’t as clever as her slightly older friend – by one year – she did possess a picture-perfect memory. She relied on it now to recall the map details: red blots of ink splashed merrily across the page, as if a mischievous child had begun an ill-fated art project. She decided to begin with Granville’s room. Grateful for the ample spread of thick rugs in the corridor, she crept toward an elaborate, carved door at the end of the passage. After giving it a tentative tap, she slipped into the spacious room.

  Contrary to her mental image of Granville as an unkempt cad, the room was spotless. The furniture and meagre knick-knacks were set out with military precision. The armchairs, despite their soft innards, stood to attention in a permanent salute. Granville’s essential personality was confirmed, however, by the noticeable lack of books.

  At least it would be easy to search if she didn’t have to interrogate books by shaking them violently, she thought. The only paper item in the room was a small pamphlet by Oswald Mosley on the nightstand. Making her way through the room in a methodical fashion, she opened drawers, sliding her fingers underneath, hoping for concealed papers and riffled through his wardrobe. She even felt around the inside edges of the unlit fireplace – recalling that technique from a favourite detective story.

  “Ah-choo!” she sneezed in the dust. Ear cocked, she listened for movement in the hallway. Sensing nothing, she crept into the adjoining bathroom. This was also immaculate, furnished only with a creamy coloured claw-foot bath in the corner and a cabinet above the w
ashbasin. Opening it, she saw Granville’s compulsive order complex carried into his personal hygiene practices. An emerald bottle of aftershave, a small brown bottle labelled ‘brain salt’, a new toothbrush, a straight-edge razor and strop, a bar of soap and a small, half-full tin of Calox tooth powder – all squared off at attention. She felt disappointed by her lack of progress as she left the bathroom by the other door, which opened into the corridor.

  Congratulating herself on the efficiency of her search, she leaned on the balcony to contemplate her next move. She peered over the square spiral staircase to the ground-floor hallway.

  She sniffed. Cigar smoke?

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Fina spun round to confront a tall man, leering at her with ice-grey eyes. The words wafting out of his mouth were less noticeable than the mixed odour of Scotch and cigar escaping the same orifice. With a deft move away from his inappropriate physical proximity, Fina inched backward. Pursing her lips, she said, “I’m Fina Aubrey-Havelock. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Well we have now,” he responded with a wink. He slicked back his already-receding hairline, as if any strand could possibly escape the plaster he used as hair pomade.

  “Sir, I really don’t think…”

  “Now, now. It’s all just a bit of fun. I’m Leslie Dashwood. Best chum of Granville’s down at Oxford,” he said, seeming to regain a bit of composure as he uttered his clipped sentences. The effect was cancelled by a wanton swig at his heavy cut-glass tumbler. Fina thought he looked as tranquil and pleased as a basking shark.

  “I thought guests weren’t arriving yet. I was just having a look around,” said Fina, continuing to inch away.

  Swinging his glass to make his point, nearly spraying Fina with a miniature tidal wave of Scotch, Leslie continued. “Yes, well, I motored down last night to Great Malvern to stay at a local inn.”