The Mystery of Ruby's Sugar (Ruby Dove Mysteries Book 1) Page 3

Not feeling compelled to explain, he changed the subject. “Aubrey-Havelock… Aubrey-Havelock. That name rings a bell.”

  “Yes, my father was part of the Tavistock Aubrey-Havelock line. Perhaps you’ve been to Tavistock?” Fina said, lightly, hoping that the alcohol would impair his memory from following this line of enquiry any further.

  “Yes, but that’s not it… I’ve got it!” he said, holding up an index finger in triumph. “Are you related to Connor Aubrey-Havelock? That chap hanged for murdering his father?” Fina saw a slight smirk emerge from the corner of his thin-lipped mouth.

  Fina dug her fingernails into her arm.

  “Yes… I remember the headlines,” he continued, waving his drink so excitedly that Fina hoped he would be deprived of further liquid pleasure. “Irish son murders father, Earl of Tavistock, in a fit of rage.” Not remembering his audience, or not caring if he did, he motored on, “Yes, even though he had English noble blood in his veins, it couldn’t cancel out the savage Irish blood.”

  By this time, Fina felt her face had become as crimson as the rug on the floor. Wobbling on her legs, she turned and dashed down the corridor before the tears tumbled forth.

  4

  Fleeing her tormenter, Fina stopped to catch her breath – but more importantly to wipe away her tears in front of a gilt-edged mirror in a small recess off the main hall. As she looked at her splotchy, freckled face, another round of tears welled up, from what felt like her toes. She removed her handkerchief – eternally grateful for the ingenious pockets Ruby had designed in her dress – and dabbed her eyes. Would the pain ever go away? Or at least be dulled by that maddening cliché of time? Connor… Her jaw tightened with the now-familiar transition from sadness to rage. A rage that fuelled her. Gave her purpose. Tucking her unruly, wavy hair behind one ear, she sniffed and plastered a smile on her face that belied the torment underneath. She must focus on the task at hand.

  Tap-tap. After knocking on the nearest door and hearing nothing, Fina escaped inside. She did not know if this room was on her ink-blot map. Through bleary eyes, she struggled to find her bearings. A rapid scan of the lived-in room revealed it was one of the family bedrooms rather than guest quarters. Though the room was hardly disorderly, it somehow felt more human than Granville’s room. Perhaps it was the fact that the stack of books on the nightstand, for example, were slightly askew. No political literature for this member of the family. The faded gold titles on the spines read Othello and Beowulf. Hmph, thought Fina. Serious reading. Her eyes crinkled with delight when she read the spine on the top: Wilkie Collins’ Moonstone.

  Moving on, her eyes fixed on a small mahogany roll-top writing desk in the corner of the room. Rubbing her hands together and blowing into them, as much from the chill as from her encounter with Leslie Dashwood, she marched over to the desk. The surface held one small framed photograph of a woman with a child, aged three or four, perched on her knee. By the style of the woman’s dress, Fina judged the photo to be least fifteen years old. The mother’s thick mane cascaded about her shoulders, half hiding a contented smile. The little boy’s legs looked as if they had just been swinging about the mother’s knee, complementing the joyful grin on his face. Recalling fond memories of her own mother, she fought back the grief welling up from her already exhausted tear ducts. Shaking her head, she said aloud, “Fina!” just like her mother had said when she was in trouble as a child. Rolling back the top of the desk revealed writing paper, pens, envelopes and a few closed drawers.

  The tiny drawers divulged little of interest. Fina flicked through the carelessly assembled papers: race meeting schedules, college reading lists, tobacconists’ bills, and lists of figures which meant nothing to her. One sheaf of paper was particularly thick and incomprehensible. ‘Due Diligence Report: Dulcet & Sons’ was the heading, followed by: ‘Based on Files Examined, With Particular Regards to Foreign & Colonial Assets, Property and Debentures’. Fina frowned. If only it had been seventeenth-century English, or basic Latin, she might have stood a chance of understanding it. As for the columns of numbers running down the sheet, they must be sums of money – at least, the ones marked with £ must be – but what about the others?

  She turned the page and her eye was immediately caught by a handwritten scribble across the top: ‘NOW’. It was underlined twice, and the writing was emphatic enough that the pen nib had nearly torn through the paper. Whoever wrote that had been desperate, she thought. Desperate for some action to be taken straight away. But what? How could this dry financial statement inspire such panicked urgency in whoever had held the pen?

  She straightened up, carefully restoring the items to their homes, and eased the top of the desk back into place. Now on to the wardrobe. Opening it revealed a row of tweed blazers, pressed trousers, a few jumpers and a row of brown shoes of varying styles. All expensively tailored, of course, but not particularly avant-garde in the men’s department.

  Satisfied, she made her exit with a rapid, efficient step, ready to report her findings to Ruby.

  5

  Fina tended to worry. This, she knew, was one of her signature accomplishments in life. Though she was only twenty-one years old, she had learned through bitter experience that sometimes, one’s worst fears really did come true. But she had survived and even thrived. Ruby, while also introspective – and someone who had already survived tragedies in her life – did not tend to worry, or at least not as much as Fina did. Early-life calamities had shaped their personalities in quite contrasting, yet oddly complementary ways. Both were loyal to a few people, and mistrust ruled much of their actions. Ruby turned this outward – she trusted almost no one but herself. Fina, however, turned it inward – she mistrusted herself. This was one of the reasons she was drawn to Ruby. Despite her other faults, Ruby trusted herself.

  “Ruby, I’m anxious. Do you think we’ll get caught?”

  “Of course not, Feens. And that gown is divine. You look positively delicious in it,” Ruby proclaimed. Admiring her curved reflection in the mirror, Fina smiled. She had to immodestly agree with her friend – just this once.

  “You’re not too shabby yourself,” she told Ruby. By custom and by trade, Ruby looked stunning in her figure-skimming blue tulle satin dress. Subtle sequins sparkled along the vertical lines of the dress. Her hair was perfectly coifed, of course, and she wore her pinprick opal earrings that made her skin glow.

  “Charlotte has definite ideas about what she wants, but I am thrilled she has ordered so many new pieces.” Arranging herself on the overstuffed settee, Ruby said, “But let’s talk about the important news. Tell me – I’m dying to know what you’ve found out so far.”

  Fina recounted her adventures faithfully, omitting the hurtful words of Leslie Dashwood. She didn’t want to be consoled. At least not yet.

  “Hmm… I wish I’d seen those financial papers,” said Ruby. “Are you sure they weren’t about Lavington’s?”

  “Positively. The name on it was quite different, and I didn’t see anything about sugar.”

  “I’d think they weren’t important,” mused Ruby, “if it weren’t for that note written so urgently across the top. Someone may be planning drastic action – perhaps even this weekend. I don’t like the look of it, frankly. Perhaps we’ll know more once we find the Bluegate papers.” She rose and went to the dressing table, where she opened a tiny pot of eyelash-black and began to apply it carefully. “What about the photograph – do you think you’d recognize the child in it as an adult?”

  “Perhaps. I’m not sure if the child is one of the current family – such as Edgar, Granville’s brother – or if he’s some other member of the family. In any case, we can confirm it is Edgar’s room by the type of clothes he wears tonight.”

  “Why? Are they as divine as your dress?” giggled Ruby.

  “Hardly. Rather drab and boring – though expensive, of course. Speaking of the opposite of boring, what is our plan for tonight?”

  “We’ll have to search the study tonight, perhap
s quite late. Let’s gather as much information from all the guests as possible. We should suss out their connections to the Sykes-Duckworths as well as the Earl and Countess of Snittlegarth. Wendell is expecting a full report, as well as finding the Bluegate papers. I’m counting on your photographic memory to come through for us.”

  “I hope it will.” Fina paced in front of the fireplace. “I’m nervous.”

  “Yes, I am too. A couple of cocktails – though not too many – should do the trick. Try to enjoy yourself!” With that, the drinks gong sounded from below. Ruby signalled to Fina that they should strut their way downstairs.

  6

  Giving one another a quick squeeze of the hand, Ruby and Fina slinked into the din of the drawing room.

  “There you are!” Charlotte purred as they entered, lifting her glass in salute. She was resplendent in an emerald green silk Schiaparelli with a long V-neck in the back – quite a daring departure from her signature style. Despite Charlotte’s warm welcome, Fina winced at the grip of her hand on her upper arm as she piloted the two friends around the room for introductions.

  The drawing room, like all of the rooms Fina had seen at Pauncefort Hall thus far, was decorated meticulously from top to bottom. It was aglow with candles, placed far away from the luscious green trimmings of holly and juniper boughs. Clearly, not far enough, thought Fina. She spied a glass set precariously close to one of the candles. The candle tipped and caused a minor conflagration. Charlotte rushed to douse the flame with her glass of water.

  Gliding back toward them – deftly avoiding her already slightly swaying guests – Charlotte resumed her mission.

  “Uncle Roger insists on these dreadful lighted candles everywhere at Christmastime. Such a hazard,” she said, smiling and shaking her head as if he were a cute but bothersome child.

  Taking a quick glance at her silver watch, she said under her breath, “We’re running a bit behind schedule. Would you mind terribly if I pointed people out to you? Then you’ll know who everyone is in case we get interrupted in the middle of in-person introductions.”

  “Of course,” said Fina readily, wincing as she remembered her earlier ‘in-person’ introduction to Leslie Dashwood.

  “Splendid,” said Charlotte. “Let’s start in the corner, with the Oxford contingent. That rather sulky young man with the sandy hair, drab colours and slightly too-tight collar is my brother, Edgar. You may have seen him before – he’s at Balliol. That man he’s speaking to, with the high forehead, glasses, moustache and rather sharp suit by Frederick Scholte, is Cyril Lighton, a don at his college. I suspect you may know of him already.”

  Grimston appeared from the ether to speak to Charlotte in a whisper.

  Fina used this momentary diversion to eye the don. Cyril Lighton clasped his hands tightly behind his back, bobbing and weaving slightly as a response to his companion’s conversation. His tooth-combed moustache gleamed in a startling fashion, drawing attention away from an almost-absent chin. Having had many recent experiences watching dons closely during a lecture of one sort or another, this one ran to type. And yet. There was something that set him apart.

  She felt a nudge at her shoulder. Without speaking, Ruby motioned with her eyes toward the floor. Fina looked down. That was it. Cyril was leaning against a bookcase, causing his trouser legs to ride up a little. Peeking out rather cheekily from under the trouser legs was one white sock and one red sock. Quelle horreur! She snorted a bit, trying to suppress a giggle. Ruby held a hand up to her scarlet lips, only letting out what sounded like a hiccup.

  As Charlotte was still engaged, Fina turned to consider Edgar. The clothes confirmed that the room she had searched earlier had belonged to him and she thought it possible that he was the child in the photograph. She would know if he grinned, but that seemed like an unlikely possibility at this point.

  Near his feet, flecks of white, mirroring the snow outside, drifted to the floor. Fina attributed this to Edgar’s habit of picking at the skin around his thumbs. His fingers moved with an urgent, incessant grating behaviour, as if he had been stung by a nettle.

  Half fascinated, half disgusted by Edgar’s proclivities, Fina pulled her attention back to Charlotte who had turned away from the ethereal Grimston and drifted toward the fireplace, clearly expecting her to follow. “Come, you simply must meet Uncle Roger. He minds the shop here at Pauncefort while my father is engaged on business in the Caribbean, as he generally is nine months out of the twelve. Don’t be fooled by that rather old-fashioned monocle; it makes Uncle Roger look rather a stuffed shirt, but he’s a darling really.” That last was spoken in a whisper as the Earl of Snittlegarth turned to greet them.

  “Enchanted, Miss Aubrey-Havelock,” he boomed, taking Fina’s hand and executing a courtly half-bow over it. “It’s an uncommon pleasure to have so many fresh faces here at Pauncefort for Christmas. Yes, yes, quite uncommon.” His eyes crinkled up almost to the point of disappearing as he beamed at Fina.

  Here was a man who clearly enjoyed his wine and his food. The Earl’s pink complexion was heightened by reddish broken capillaries along his bulbous nose and the buttons strained to be free from the tyranny of his waistcoat. His rather unfashionable grey mutton chops added definition to his jowls. Fina instinctively recoiled from his touch, repelled by the weight of all the Earl represented, his centuries-old heritage of privilege and dominion – and yet, she found him to be a quite likable looking character. “So kind of you to have us down,” she murmured.

  “Miss Dove, a joy, an absolute joy, to welcome you to Pauncefort,” the Earl carried on, giving Ruby the same treatment he’d given Fina. “And Charlotte tells me the two of you are some of London’s finest… er… frock-makers, is it?”

  “Dress designers, sir,” replied Ruby firmly.

  The word must have caught the ear of the woman the Earl had been talking to, because at that point she turned and gracefully inserted herself into the conversation, tilting her head curiously at Ruby and Fina.

  “Sajida Badarur,” announced Charlotte, “a princess from Tezpur. She is visiting her sister, Gayatri, whom you can just about see over there by the rather garish mirror, in the taupe crêpe de Chine.”

  It was hardly surprising that any mention of dress had attracted the princess’ attention, thought Fina. Sajida’s Chanel gown was the very height of elegance; it must have come from last season’s collection, and it fitted her slim form perfectly.

  “A pleasure,” murmured Sajida.

  “Gayatri is reading medicine at Somerville College, Oxford,” Charlotte went on, “and I believe that when Edgar heard that she and her sister had never experienced a traditional English Christmas, he felt he simply had to invite them to share ours.”

  “Dashed shame to miss the Yuletide, hey?” said the Earl. “Jolliest time of the year – bar the Glorious Twelfth, that is, ho ho!”

  Ruby chucked dutifully, but her eyes narrowed as they met Fina’s. Charlotte, conscious that a chill had descended, took their arms and hastened them away.

  “Oh dear, I was so focused on introductions that I failed to be a good host! Where is your liquid tonic?” said Charlotte, looking in Grimston’s direction. Grimston materialized with a tray of champagne and luridly colourful cocktails. Fina selected a glass of champagne, her favourite, but also a drink whose effects could be measured more easily than a cocktail. Ruby, somewhat out of character – though she could afford it since she could hold her liquor better than Fina – selected what appeared to be a martini from the drinks tray.

  Now that Charlotte’s champagne had been topped up, she continued on her merry round of introductions. “We’re nearly there! The man in the opposite corner by the window – my, the snow is coming down – sorry, the man with the close-cropped hair, striped cravat and impeccable shoes, is Ian Clavering, the theatre producer, you know. He lives half the year in London during theatre season and then goes home for the other half to the Bahamas to be with family. Have you seen any of his shows? Of course, I don�
��t suppose you get down to the West End much, from Oxford,” said Charlotte vaguely.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” admitted Ruby. “I’ve seen Mr Clavering here and there, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  Taking the hint, Charlotte began leading them to the window-seat, then drew up short and stopped. Ian Clavering’s lanky figure was leaning closely in toward a woman with a brown helmet-like bob and close-set eyes. Fina’s stomach flipped with jealousy at the height of her cheekbones. They were deep in conversation, oblivious to the laughter and chat of the other guests. Ian’s eyebrows wriggled with what appeared to be disbelief – either that or intense consternation. His square jaw worked itself in a haphazard motion, slipping occasionally as his eyebrows lifted.

  “Perhaps the introduction can wait,” said Ruby, sensing Charlotte’s reluctance to interrupt the pair. “He and Julia must be dishing the dirt on some scandal at the Criterion.”

  With an air of relief, Charlotte said, “Of course, you know my dear friend Julia, don’t you – you’re arranging her wardrobe for this new film. Some sort of… thriller, I believe.” She said the word as if it were the name of a disease. Fina doubted Charlotte had ever seen a film in her life. For herself, though, it was quite exciting to see Julia Aston – the Julia Aston – only several feet away. “Her red suit from Gilbert Adrian is marvellous, isn’t it?” said Charlotte, back on safe ground. “I must say I am pleased with the sartorial quality of our guests this weekend,” she added with a satisfied sigh.

  “And lastly, we come to more of the Sykes-Duckworth brood,” Charlotte said, gesticulating with her glass toward the entrance to the room. A drop or two of the champagne escaped onto the floor. Fina was glad it was almost time for dinner. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and felt that the champagne was already going to her head – as it was apparently for Charlotte and the rest of the guests if the volume level of discussion in the drawing room were any indication.