Chapter 29- Margaret
Aquarter of an hour later, they were finishing a heated debate about how the victim had been killed.
“So we agree that he was hit over the head and stabbed?” Callum finally said.
“And it was most likely in that order, for why would one hit him over the head after they’d already stabbed him?” Lord Shaw said.
“Because they were deranged,” Ellis said, curling his fingertips into the approximation of claws.
“Yes,” Rachel said crisply, ignoring him. “Hit, then stabbed. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Servants began filing in to take the soup bowls away.
Amongst their rank was an upstairs maid.
She took one look at Lord Lawrence, bloody and sprawled out upon the floor, and shrilly screamed.
She hit the swinging door at a run, so hard that it thwacked against the paneling in the other room.
The sound of her alarm grew fainter by the moment as she fled.
A shocked silence descended. The other servants blinked at each other for half a moment, then set to clearing the places once more.
“Was that planned for the sake of ambience?” Margaret finally asked, a hand to her chest.
Ellis clasped a hand over his face and pinched his nose. His eyes were bright, his shoulders shaking.
Rachel blinked. “No.”
“How unfortunate,” Callum said, his eyes twinkling.
She shrugged. “I warned the housekeeper to alert all the staff.”
“Hopefully someone will catch her before she reaches the back door,” Lord Shaw said in a dry tone.
“Can you please make sure they serve me a plate? I feel as if I’ll recover from my injuries at any moment,” Lord Lawrence said.
Several more dishes were served and cleared while the guests did their best to figure out who the murderer was. Everyone was in agreement that it hadn’t been Ellis’s character, but past that, there was much disagreement.
“Will you just tell us who the murderer is?” Beatrice finally asked Rachel, her shoulders sagging.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said, eyebrows raised, looking around the table. “That was kind of the point of the dinner party—to figure out who did it.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Lily said, aghast, eyebrows raised.
“Well, I don’t know yet,” Rachel said with a frown. “I haven’t figured out the mystery. What fun would that have been for me if I knew who the murderer was?”
“You’re the one who wrote it,” Beatrice insisted.
“That’s the problem with trying to write something cleverer than you are,” Rachel said. “One always reaches the end of one’s own cleverness and still isn’t satisfied.”
Lord Shaw chuckled and returned his attention to his plate.
“Who would you make the murderer if it were you?” Rachel asked.
“Callum,” Margaret said on impulse, pointing. “Obviously he’s the killer.”
“The only thing he’s ever murdered is his roast beef,” Ellis muttered.
“Yes, it cannot be Ettrick, because he’s far too large to fit down the chimney,” Rachel said.
“What does the chimney have to do with anything?” Beatrice said, her brow crinkled.
“Remember the soot on the instep of the victim’s pant leg?” Rachel asked.
There was a moment of silence in which each and every person around the table craned their neck to inspect the body.
“Are you all looking at me?” Lord Lawrence muttered. “I feel as if you’re all looking at me.”
“What’s the point of playing dead if the corpse is going to talk?” Beatrice complained.
“I think he’s done a marvelous job,” Margaret supplied. “It must be exceedingly difficult to lie there all evening with that gore upon his chest.”
“It became decidedly more difficult once the rack of lamb was served,” he admitted.
Ellis hiccuped a laugh and motioned for his wine glass to be refilled.
“Can we please return to the point, which is that there’s been a murder and none of us know who did it?” Lily asked with real concern. She looked around the table, searching everybody’s features as if looking for someone to agree with her.
“Why on earth are you frightened?” Beatrice said.
“Because…look at him!” Lily extended her arm toward Lord Lawrence.
It appeared as if the man had momentarily fallen asleep. Margaret’s suspicion was confirmed a second later when a gentle snore emitted from his lips. Callum caught her eye and grinned. Margaret couldn’t help but smile back.
“It’s so realistic,” Lily insisted.
“Realistic?” Beatrice dropped her fork on her plate. “Do you truly believe that a dinner party would take place with a corpse lying not six feet from the table? How on earth is this realistic in your eyes?”
“Shush,” Lily said. “You’ll wake him.”
“Which is it, Lily?” Beatrice said, leaning forward, her eyes narrowed. “Is he sleeping or is he dead? You must choose.”
“It isn’t my fault that I don’t like looking at a corpse,” she said, her wide eyes still clamped on Lord Lawrence’s sleeping form.
“Goodness’ sakes.” Beatrice picked up the shrimp fork from her place setting and winged it at Lord Lawrence. It pinged off the wood floor right next to his ear.
He jolted straight up, eyes wide. “What?” he shouted.
Lily screamed.
“Do shut up,” Beatrice muttered beneath her breath.
Margaret couldn’t help it; she giggled. Her eyes rose and met Callum’s twinkling gaze.
There was a fizzing in her stomach every time he looked at her.
Margaret blamed the setting. For despite the bloodied approximation of a corpse next to them, the low light of the candelabra and the flowers on the table gave the dinner a decidedly romantic ambience—at least to her.
Perhaps the sight of Callum in his dinner suit had something to do with it too.
“Well, I suppose it’s well and truly ruined now,” Rachel said. “Calvin, you might as well join us.”
“Looking like that?” Lily protested, her wide eyes blinking.
“Quite right,” Lord Lawrence said. “I shall change my shirt and be back in a trice.”
“Quite the dinner party,” Lord Shaw muttered, “when guests have to bring a change of clothing.”
Rachel turned to him. “Who would you say had done it?”
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and took a sip of his wine, looking at Callum.
“It couldn’t have been Ettrick’s character, for he’s large enough to hide the body.
The scene wasn’t fresh, so we must assume that the killer isn’t strong enough to have picked the man up and disposed of him properly; otherwise, they would have. ”
“Properly? Like in the rubbish bin?” Lily asked, a line between her eyebrows.
“Please,” Rachel sighed. “If we start in on the proper disposal of corpses, we’ll be here all night.”
“Right,” Lily murmured, looking dazed. “My mistake.”
“As I was saying,” Lord Shaw said. “It must have been someone who wasn’t capable of moving the body. And I don’t think the killer came down the chimney, either,” he said after another moment.
“Why not?” Margaret swirled the wine in her glass absentmindedly.
“While there was soot on the victim’s boots and face, there were no footprints.”
“Footprints?” Lily repeated dumbly.
“Of course,” Rachel said, slapping the table. “The killer couldn’t have come from the chimney, because there would have been far more ash on the carpet and even on the corpse.”
“Right.” Lord Shaw nodded.
“I naturally suspect the most beautiful woman in the room,” Callum said lightly.
To Lily’s credit, she looked around the table as everyone looked at her. Everyone except for Callum, who raised his eyebrow at Margaret in an accusatory fashion.
Lily finally held up both hands, her eyes wide. “It wasn’t me.”
“Well, of course it couldn’t be Lily,” Margaret said. “She nearly fainted at the sight of beet juice.”
“Who do you think it was?” Callum asked Lily.
“I think…” she started, then looked around the table. She took a fortifying breath and said, “I think it might have been one of the servants.”
“Typical,” Beatrice said sarcastically. “Just another upper-class nobility blaming the working class.”
Callum held up a hand. “Hear her out. Why do you think it was a servant?”
“Because no one ever sees them,” she said. “Not truly. They can move about the house without being noticed.”
Callum nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Very astute of you. However…if I’m asked to name a killer, my vote is still for Margaret.”
“Why on earth would you suspect me?” Margaret said. She couldn’t tell if she was offended that he’d accuse her of such a thing or delighted by his attention.
“Yes,” Rachel said, her eyes narrowed. “Why on earth would you blame Margaret?”
Just then, Lord Lawrence strode into the room, wearing a fresh shirt. Lily gasped at his appearance; there was the ghost of beet juice along his neck and jaw.
“Yes,” he said, ruefully, eyeing his place setting where several covered dishes awaited. “Dreadfully sorry about that—I did my best to remove it.”
“Apparently, that stuff stains.” Callum pushed back from the table just as Lord Lawrence laid his hand on the back of his own chair. “Lord Lawrence, if you would be so kind as to help me with a demonstration?”
“Of course,” Lord Lawrence said, his eyes shooting a longing gaze at the dishes.
“If you could stand near the fireplace, please. Brace your arm upon the mantle, and stare down into the embers, as if you were deep in contemplation.”
Calvin complied with his request.
“Margaret, will you please join us?”
Margaret stood, and Callum pulled a silver candlestick down from the mantle.
He blew the taper out and removed it. Then he placed the candlestick into her hand and surrounded her hand with his own.
The feel of him so close to her and the warmth of his hand around hers was intoxicating.
She couldn’t stop her blush. She hoped that the other guests would attribute it to her acting out the crime.
“I beg your pardon, Margaret,” Callum said. “But if you came at him like this…”
Callum swung the candlestick up, and then brought it gently down, just behind Calvin’s ear, where the beet juice still stained his blond hair.