Chapter 29- Margaret #2
“Do you see? We all assumed that the killer had to be tall in order to strike him down. But in this arrangement, Margaret could have done so quite nicely. Lord Lawrence, if you would be so kind as to fall upon the ground.”
Calvin was more than happy to oblige. He flopped down with such a realistic performance that Lily gasped.
“I’m quite all right, Miss Preston,” he said cheerfully, “only getting into the spirit of things, you see. I’m grateful to have a more active role this time. I was rather disappointed earlier, just to be the aftermath.”
Callum grinned. “Although the stab wounds were in his front, I would posit that Margaret did so after the man had already been felled by the candlestick. Everyone naturally discounted her because she was too short in stature. It would be the perfect way to get away with the murder.”
“Very interesting,” Rachel said, narrowing her eyes at Margaret.
Margaret frowned. “Let’s not get carried away here. You’ve only proven that I might have been able to commit the crime, not that I actually did.”
“A fair point,” Callum conceded. He gallantly helped Calvin off the floor and pulled out Margaret’s chair for her before regaining his seat.
“I suppose there could be other suspects amongst us, but we mustn’t count out Margaret just because of her size. One would be foolish to count Margaret out at all,” he said lightly.
Something unfurled in Margaret’s stomach at the words.
Silly nonsense, she chided herself. Why on earth should she be feeling warm and languid because Callum had accused her of murder?
“Indeed,” Rachel said. “I think Margaret capable of anything.”
“Absolutely.” Callum met Margaret’s eyes. “I’ve no doubt that she could fell a man twice the size of Calvin.”
They stared at each other for several moments while the others discussed the possibility of Margaret having killed Lord Lawrence.
Lord Lawrence finally broke their silent tête-à-tête when he said, “This is excellent soup. Very well worth the wait. You can tell it’s a quality soup because I dare say it’s just as delicious cold as it must have been hot.”
“I hope you don’t mind that we asked you to lie on the floor for half of the party,” Margaret said, suddenly chagrined.
“Not at all,” Lord Lawrence said. “My position there helped build the suspense twofold. One, in service of the fictional murder. And two, it helped me look forward to all the wonderful things now at my plate.”
It was true—they had eaten four dishes without Lord Lawrence. He went back and forth between them now, from soup to fish to roast beef to rack of lamb, humming his appreciation with every bite.
“Besides,” he said, “I was so happy to be included. Mother will be delighted that I spent an evening with such wonderful people. Doubtless, she’ll be waiting up to hear all about it.”
Margaret smiled at him. He was a kind person, if a bit awkward, and she determined then and there to enfold Lord Lawrence permanently in their grouping.
Margaret would much rather have a straightforward, kind friend than a more intelligent one who used social maneuverings like the sharp edge of a knife.
After all, Lord Lawrence had never hurt anyone. That could not be said of some of the gentlemen who were esteemed far above him.
“Well, we are quite glad that you’re here,” Margaret said. On impulse, she added, “And you will have to come back next Wednesday evening, as I am throwing another dinner party.”
“Indeed?” Lord Lawrence’s eyebrows rose as he smiled. “How wonderful.”
Margaret flushed a little when she realized that she had gained the attention of the entire table. “Of course, you’re all invited to return,” she said. “We have to finish figuring out who murdered Lord Lawrence.”
“I thought we had decided it was you,” Ettrick said.
“Do you not wish to come back to dinner on Wednesday?” Margaret asked primly, her eyebrow raised.
He gave a slow smile that she felt in her stomach. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think you’ll find that I’m not put off by the difficulty of a task. When I set my mind to something, I’m determined to work at it, no matter how long it takes.”
Some time later, the aforementioned plum pudding was finally served, and Margaret had to admit that it might have been well worth the dinner party all on its own. Lord Lawrence seemed to concur, giving a contented little hum as he sopped up some of the brandy sauce.
Only Lily seemed to disagree. When she cut into the center of hers and a red-purple center oozed out, she moaned and pushed her plate back.
“I forgot that our cook adds poached plums to the middle,” Margaret said, trying to hide her smile.
“It looks too much like the beets,” Lily admitted.
“If you don’t want yours, pass it down, please,” Rachel said.
“I’d advise against it,” Lord Shaw said. “Plums are much like gunpowder. A little is excellent, but more isn’t always better.”
Lord Lawrence grinned. “What is it they say on the battlefield?”
Ellis thumped the table. “Give fire!”
“In case you gentlemen have forgotten, there are ladies present,” Callum said, his eyes twinkling.
“We’re eating with a reanimated corpse at the table,” Lord Shaw said in a dry tone. “I think we can speak of battle cries.”
“Oh, I wasn’t just talking of warfare,” Lord Lawrence said. “I was speaking of the sometimes incendiary nature of too many plums.”
“I daresay we understood the joke. It was the nature of the joke that was the issue,” Callum said, smiling.
“What on earth could be more appropriate than speaking of fruit during dessert?” Margaret teased.
“In case I didn’t sound so, I was serious when I suggested passing your plate, Lily,” Rachel said. “I dearly love plum pudding.”
Lily obligingly passed it to Lord Shaw, who held on to the plate even as Beatrice took hold of the other side.
“Are you sure?” he asked Rachel.
“I quite think she knows her own mind,” Beatrice snapped. “If she wants to have it, who are you to tell her no?”
Lord Shaw released the plate. Beatrice apparently had been tugging at it—she nearly dumped the pudding into her lap. At the last moment, she righted the plate and scowled at Lord Shaw. He smiled serenely in return.
After dinner, they all converged in the drawing room for cards.
There, they divided into two tables of whist. Lord Shaw proved to be an excellent partner; he won no matter who he was paired with.
Beatrice was very nearly as good, but far too competitive.
Lily and Lord Lawrence were similarly untalented and therefore claimed each other as permanent partners to avoid the embarrassment of bringing anyone else down with them.
Hours passed with much laughter, though Rachel eventually frowned and pressed a hand to her stomach.
Lord Shaw leaned toward Beatrice and murmured, “You see? I warned her about the second serving.”
“Being right is hardly the point,” she whispered.
“Are you sure you’re right about that?” he asked lightly.
Lord Shaw was the first to make his excuses for the evening, and the party was quickly broken up after that. Such was the nature of things—once the first person left, everyone mimicked them, so as not to be the guest who overstayed their welcome.
After accepting many compliments for the dinner and the company, the three Preston sisters and Rachel Warrington sprawled on the couches, divesting themselves of chafing shoes and poking hairpins.
As both Rachel’s chaperone and her sister had a different engagement, Rachel had arranged to spend the night with the Prestons.
“That was a lovely evening,” Lily said. “I only wish Claire could have joined us.”
“I’m sure she’s happier at her own dinner party; William, too,” Margaret said, unthreading the corkscrew hairpins from her updo.
She meant to compliment Callum on them tomorrow—they’d held her coiffure perfectly all evening. She’d rarely felt her hair so secure as it was that night.
“What a boorish man, though,” Beatrice said.
“Who?” Margaret unclipped her pearl barrette and rubbed at her scalp.
“Lord Shaw, of course.”
“Oh, really? You think so? I rather liked him,” Lily said.
“You like everyone.”
“He was funny,” Margaret said. “He possesses a dry wit, don’t you think?”
“He possesses no manners whatsoever.” Beatrice sniffed. “I was happy to see him leave.”
“I thought he was a welcome addition. He certainly is very handsome,” Rachel said.
“Is that how you choose your dinner partners?” Beatrice said. “I thought you didn’t wish to be married.”
“I hardly see the connection.” Rachel frowned. “Just because I enjoy attending art museums doesn’t mean I’m going to attempt to run off with one of the paintings.”
Margaret laughed.
Beatrice shook her head and stoutly said, “Well, I didn’t like him. Regardless of how handsome he is, his visage cannot make up for his poor company. As far as I’m concerned, I hope never to see the gentleman again.”
Margaret pressed her lips together and frowned. She thought this a poor time to inform Beatrice that William might be going into business with the man.
“I enjoyed Mr. Buckley’s and Lord Lawrence’s company immensely,” Lily said, obviously trying to steer the conversational ship to more pleasant waters.
“Yes,” Beatrice said. “Though the evening would have been far more fun if Lord Shaw had played the corpse.”