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“It was,” he confirmed. “And in the wardrobe of the Dahlia Room, Rose’s orange dress, the one she was wearing the night Dorothy died, was hanging there.”
Good Lord.
I shivered at learning that and asked, “Was that Rose’s room?”
He nodded. “Yes.” Then he carried on, “In the Smoking Room in the northwest wing, we found a pipe that isn’t usually there, next to a silver Cartier pen. I don’t know about the pipe, though I’ve seen pictures, and he did smoke one, but the pen is David’s. It’s also monogrammed. It’s usually kept in the Whisky Room, and it’s still used. However, Dad didn’t notice it missing.”
Ulk.
“Okay,” I prompted.
“There was also a framed picture of Joan, holding a baby, who would be George, my great-grandfather, set in the nursery.”
How disturbing!
“God,” I breathed.
“And an old-fashioned lady’s hat, presumably Virginia’s, was sitting on a sofa in the Morning Room in the northeast wing. To my understanding, that being where she spent a lot of her time, it being situated all the way across the house from the Smoking Room, where David normally spent his time.”
“Fuck,” I said.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “We’ve made the decision to leave everything where it is. In order not to raise suspicion, we only alerted Stevenson to help us search. He’s going to discreetly inventory the house. He’ll recruit Christine to help. The rest of the staff won’t be told what’s happening. I’ve forwarded staff records to my investigators in London so they can be thoroughly researched, and one is coming up tomorrow to have a look at things. I’m afraid I’m going to have to find a way to sneak her in. I don’t want any of the staff to know what she’s doing.”
“So you think it’s an inside job.”
Another nod. “We also inspected the staff corridors and stairwells. They don’t clean those and some of them, which should not be in use at all, those being the ones to the storage areas, have had the dust on the treads unsettled. Only those who live or work here know how to navigate that network of passages through the house. At the very least, no one would have access to them unless they were in the house, specifically the primary entry points, those being belowstairs. It has to be someone who has access and understanding that they’re there to be found…and used.”
“But how do you explain them knowing the code to the History Room and the combination to the safe?”
“All the safes have been checked. Nothing moved into them, nothing missing, except what you found in the Brandy Room. We’ve changed the code to the door to the History Room. There are several safes that have been switched to electric. Those codes have been changed too. The ones that require combinations will be more difficult. But to answer your question, I can only deduce that someone was around to watch someone else entering the codes or combination. That’s the only explanation because, in working with them to search the house, it’s apparent Dad, Daniel nor Stevenson are behind this.”
I asked the million-dollar question, even if I knew he had no answer.
“And why would someone be doing this?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he told me what I already knew on a sigh, then pushed up slightly in the sofa. “It doesn’t add up. All of these areas are not used by family. Only staff would find these things. Also, why lay out the flute, then put it away? I discovered from Stevenson that those rooms aren’t cleaned except once every four months. No one has been in them for ages, except you.”
“I wandered the house on my own on the tour. And Brittany saw me up there, maybe she mentioned it to someone else. It would have been easy for someone to see me. Perhaps they knew I saw it, and then moved it, the better to freak us out that it was there, then gone.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed, then asked, “Did you see any of these other things?”
I shook my head. “I can’t say my perusal of those rooms was thorough, though. And I didn’t look into many rooms on the southeast wing. It was clear from seeing a few those were family quarters, and I didn’t know whose was whose. I didn’t want to pry.”
He nodded yet again, slumped back into the couch, rested his head on the back and did the pinching of the bridge of his nose thing.
Watching him—and being pissed on his behalf that this was happening in his home, a blatant mindfuck, a violation—it suddenly hit me.
“I saw a girl coming out of the Whisky Room. I haven’t seen her before or since.”
He turned his head to me. “A girl?”
“She was wearing what Jack and Sam wear during the day.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “One of the cleaning girls.”
“Cleaning girls? Don’t Harriet and Rebecca and Laura do the cleaning?”
“They do,” he affirmed. “It’s beside the point, but it’s my feeling we’re grossly overstaffed. I’ve often seen people idle. Something I’ve since discussed with Stevenson, and he agrees. Therefore, Brittany will not be replaced, and it’s likely, when one of the others leaves, they won’t either. A cost-cutting measure that won’t affect the running of the house but will allow me to increase Mum and Dad’s allowances, which might assist me in making them more amenable to the other changes I intend to make.”
