Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (6 page)

“I have no doubt you do. But what do you expect me to do about it?” The languid insolence convinced me that the second voice was that of Rupert Howe.

I realized that the two men were likely standing at the corner of the building, their voices carried up and into my room by the wind. Closing the window would only draw unwanted attention, so I sat very still, attempting not to listen but doing a very poor job of it.

“I want you to leave my sister alone. Get out of here and don’t come back.”

This was met with a harsh, disdainful laugh. “You really think I would do such a thing?”

“Oh, I’m sure you would. Men like you always have a price.”

“Save your breath … and your money. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m warning you…”

“And I’m warning you,” Rupert interjected smoothly. “I have those letters you’ve written me, trying to get me to break it off, threatening me with direst consequences.” His voice dripped with mockery. “I’m sure Emmeline would be very interested to see them.”

“Howe…”

“And as for the charming Mrs. Ames, I’m sure she’d be interested to know a thing or two as well.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“It’s you that brought her into it, not I.”

“She’s none of your business…”

The voices stopped suddenly, and I surmised another hotel guest had appeared on the terrace, perhaps a couple taking a stroll in the moonlight. Rupert and Gil must have walked away then, for the conversation faded into the wind.

I found their exchange to be troubling, to say the least. No doubt Gil had been trying his best to help his sister, but I was not certain that I would have chosen that exact method. He had sounded so very harsh. Then again, there had been something very ruthless in Rupert Howe’s tone, and they did say that fire was often best fought with fire.

I waited a few minutes to be sure they had gone and then pulled the window closed and switched off the light, still lost in thought.

I made my way to the bed, removed my negligee, and slid between the smooth sheets. I lay there for a long while, turning their words over and over in my head. What had Rupert Howe meant when he said there were things I would be interested to know? Matters were becoming increasingly perplexing, and I couldn’t shake the sensation that there was more to this seaside holiday than I had originally assumed. Despite the sensation of uneasiness that had settled over me, my exhaustion eventually won the day, and I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

5

MORNING DAWNED, BRIGHT
and cheerful. I had not slept well and had been troubled by unpleasant dreams, the details of which I could not recall upon waking. As I readied myself for the day in my warm, sunlit room, however, the events of the previous night seemed very far away. Perhaps things had not been as dire as I had imagined them. It was no secret that Gil and Rupert disagreed on the subject of Emmeline, after all. Their discussion might not have been of any special significance. By the time I went downstairs to meet Gil for breakfast, I had managed to recapture my feelings of optimism regarding our stay at the Brightwell.

I came down into the lobby and made my way to the breakfast room. It was at the south side of the hotel, a sunny, golden space that looked out over the terrace, with a sweeping view of the sea. The sky was a vibrant shade of blue, and our dining was accompanied by the sound of gulls and the waves on the rocks below. It was a lovely view for a lovely morning.

Gil stood and smiled as I approached his table. “Good morning. You’re looking fresh and lovely this morning.”

“Thank you.” I was pleased with the compliment. I wore a cheerful yellow silk dress that was in keeping with my attempt at good spirits. The color seemed to brighten my pale skin, which I was certain could benefit by a few days in the sun. Though naturally fair, I hoped to have time to improve my complexion a bit while here.

I filled my plate from the overflowing sideboard. The food was excellent, as it had been the night before. We were served the full spectrum of breakfast fare, including sausage, bacon, eggs, baked beans, an assortment of puddings, fried bread, kidney, kippers, tomato, mushrooms, and a variety of fruits. I ate more than could have conceivably been healthy.

I could not help but feel very much pleased with the Brightwell Hotel. I thought it was a place I should like to visit again, perhaps under less strenuous circumstances. For, despite the loveliness of the morning, there was still a tension that seemed to hover in the air.

As we ate, I noticed that a change had come over Gil since last evening. He looked as though he hadn’t slept well either. His eyes were tired, and there was a very definite tightness about his mouth that remained there even when he smiled. No doubt he was still troubled by his conversation with Rupert Howe. I decided that it would probably be best to avoid bringing up the fact that I had overheard the conversation. If he wished to tell me about, I had no doubt that he would do so in his own good time.

“You look as if a long walk along the beach would do you good,” I said as I pushed my plate away, unable to consume another mouthful.

He smiled, wearily it seemed. “As lovely as that sounds, I’m afraid I have things to attend to this morning. But soon. Soon I would like to have a walk and a long talk.”

“It will be all right, Gil.” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

He looked up at me, but there was something vague about his expression, as though his mind was not completely on our conversation. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

I picked up the coffeepot and poured the steaming liquid, refilling his cup.

He held up his hand as I picked up the sugar tongs, preparing to give him two lumps. “Just milk, please.”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten.”

*   *   *

GIL LEFT ME
after breakfast, the air of preoccupation still hanging over him. I would have liked to help, but I could think of no way to prove useful at the moment. I was his partner in this, yes, but I was no longer his confidant as I once had been. The easiness that existed between us was fragile. Once again I contemplated how rottenly I had treated him. Happily, he seemed to have forgiven me, and I hoped that we could one day be real friends again.

With nothing to do for the moment but amuse myself, I went to my room and changed into my backless peach-colored maillot, over which I wore beach pyjamas of flowing white trousers and a loose crêpe de chine jacket with wide stripes of peach, white, and teal. I topped it off with a white straw hat and matching bag. A glance in the mirror confirmed that I looked suitably turned out, and I made my way downstairs. I exited the side entrance of the building, which wound around to the seaside terrace, from which the long flight of steps led down to the beach.

I reached the seaside terrace and saw Mrs. Hamilton sitting alone at a table, taking a cup of tea. There was something of the little lost girl about her, as though someone had forgotten her.

“Hello,” I said, stopping near her table.

“Hello.” When she smiled she seemed much less retiring, as though the simple upturning of her lips brought her confidence.

“It’s a lovely day.”

“Yes, quite.” Her eyes darted out toward the sea. “Though the sea seems rather rough today.”

The water did not seem overagitated to me, but perhaps the pronounced sound of the waves echoing up from the base of the cliff had given her that impression. I remembered what her husband had said about her dislike of the sea.

“You’re all alone here?” I asked.

“Nelson has gone down to the beach.” She nodded her head toward the stretch of ground below. I imagined that, by leaning slightly in her seat, she would be able to make out the guests there at the water’s edge. I wondered if she liked to keep an eye on her husband. “I don’t care for it myself. I thought tea on the terrace would be lovely. Then perhaps I shall find a nice quiet place to read. I’m told the hotel has a comfortable sitting room. I rather like to be alone.”

So I had surmised correctly that Larissa Hamilton was not enjoying her holiday at the seaside. No doubt her husband had convinced her to come. Nelson Hamilton was undoubtedly the decision maker in their marriage. And he seemed more than happy to indulge her in her proclivity for solitude.

As if she could read my thoughts, she smiled. “I don’t mind. Really. I’m happy to sit alone reading. I’ve the latest Warwick Deeping novel to keep me company.”

“Sometimes it’s rather nice to have a bit of time to oneself,” I agreed.

“Yes. I’ve been accused of being unfriendly, but it’s really just that I’m not very good with people, especially those I don’t know.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” I told her.

Her smile returned, as though she was glad to have found someone who understood her. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time at the beach,” she said.

“And I hope you enjoy your tea and reading,” I said sincerely as I continued my journey toward the water.

A set of white wooden stairs at the end of the terrace led downward toward a little landing at the top of the cliff. From there two steps of staircases led ever downward, the steps on the right leading toward the path to the beach, the stairs on the left coming to the terrace partway down the cliff, the one about which Gil had told me yesterday.

I took the steps to the right, which led downward until they ended in a pebbled path that snaked its way down to the beach. There were other hotels, I supposed, that offered visitors easier access to the water. However, an establishment such as the Brightwell was not one to make apologies. Indeed, the private beach it offered its guests was well worth the slight inconvenience of access. The beach at the base of the cliff was cut off on either side by cliffs that extended farther into the water, creating its own secluded beachfront. There was no access except by the Brightwell steps or by boat.

A good number of Brightwell guests were at the beach, and I saw several members of our party. Emmeline sat in a chair not far from the path. Beyond her, Lionel Blake sat reading, his lips moving silently. I wondered absently if it was a script he was memorizing.

Veronica Carter lay in the sun, posing in a rather small bathing suit. She seemed to be tanning nicely, and I suspected that her red hair might not be natural; her skin tone was certainly not like that of most redheads I had known. Olive Henderson sat beneath an umbrella in striking green and blue printed beach pyjamas, looking out with disdain upon the proceedings.

Beyond them, I saw Nelson Hamilton talking to Anne Rodgers, who stood in her figure-hugging pink bathing suit, hands on her hips, bright blond hair shining in the sunlight. I wondered briefly where her husband might be but decided that he didn’t seem much the type to enjoy lounging by the sea.

The only other person I recognized was Yvonne Roland, who was walking along the surf much farther down the beach, her gaudy red robe flapping in the wind like a brilliant cape.

I stepped off the path and into the shingle beach, walking toward the others, enjoying the warm wind whipping at my hair beneath my hat. The walls of the cliff caught the sound of the sea, and the crash of the waves echoed around us.

Emmeline was alone for the moment, as Rupert was frolicking in the surf, trying to show off his good figure to the best advantage. She looked up as I approached. “Hello, Amory. Come and sit with me.” She indicated the empty striped beach chair beside her. “Unless you plan on going for a swim…”

“Oh, not yet, I should think. I like to warm a bit before I plunge into that icy water.” I sank into the chair and, kicking off my shoes, pressed my toes into the warm pebbles.

A sudden burst of laughter turned our attention to where Rupert had been knocked down by a large wave. He stood, dripping, and wiped the water from his face.

Emmeline smiled, her eyes not leaving her fiancé. “Rupert’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Yes, very.” I decided for the direct route. “When I first met your Rupert, he reminded me of Milo.”

She seemed surprised. “Really? How so?”

“Dark good looks, easy charm, elegant manner, that sort of thing.”

She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry to hear about your marriage … It makes it somewhat awkward since I’m also happy to see you with Gil.”

“I should have thought you would both be angry with me after what happened.”

“Oh, no! Gil could never be angry with you, Amory. Not really.” She looked up at me then, sincerity shining in her face. “And I felt sorry for him … but I was happy for you. I remember seeing you with Milo in London after things had … had ended with Gil. You seemed so frightfully happy, so very much in love. And I would have sworn he adored you.”

I shrugged, scooping up a handful of small, round pebbles and then let them fall, one by one, through my fingers. “Perhaps he did, for a time. Such things don’t last.”

“Don’t they?”

“No, I’m afraid not. You see, what men like Milo love most are themselves. Marriage was a diversion, and now the amusement has run its course.” I dropped the rest of the pebbles, brushing the last few clinging grains from my hands. How much of what I was saying was the truth, I wasn’t sure, but the words served my purpose. I had come not to contemplate my marriage but to cause Emmeline to contemplate hers.

Of course, I didn’t want to overdo it. I smiled. “But we needn’t dwell on the melancholy. The day is much too lovely.”

“Yes,” Emmeline agreed. I couldn’t help but notice that there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before when her gaze wandered back to Rupert.

We chatted lightly for a while after that, and then Rupert walked over.

“What are you ladies gossiping about?” he asked, wiping the water from his face and pulling on his robe.

I stood. “Just a feminine tête-à-tête, Mr. Howe. Nothing to interest you, I’m afraid. But I leave you to your fiancée. I think I shall take a stroll.”

“Have tea with us this afternoon, won’t you, Amory? On the cliff terrace,” Emmeline asked.

I looked up at the terrace high above us. “Of course. I shall see you then.”

I left them and began to walk along the shore.