Murder on Skiathos Page 3

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Rose. Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears, for her thoughts remained focused on her husband. She wondered what he had been about to say to her before they had been interrupted.

  ‘Vickers says he never mentioned the duchess, let alone that she was arriving here. In fact, he got frightfully upset when I asked him about it.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Rose, her interest piqued, in spite of herself. ‘Surely he’s not suggesting Miss Hyacinth made up the story?’

  ‘What story?’ asked Cedric, only half listening, his mind patently elsewhere as he toyed with his fork.

  ‘Why, the one about the Duchess of Grismere, of course,’ said Lavinia. ‘Surely Rose told you about it?’ she added, looking at her sister-in-law reproachfully. ‘Really, what do you married people talk about?’

  ‘Not about disappearing duchesses,’ said Cedric abruptly. ‘But, I say, are you telling me that she is expected here at the hotel?’ His feigned interest in the tablecloth and cutlery had quite disappeared.

  ‘According to Mr Vickers, she is,’ said Lavinia. ‘Well, at least that’s what he told Miss Hyacinth this afternoon. I daresay he was only trying to impress her. She’s the only one in this hotel who gives him the time of day.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Rose, glancing at the Trimbles’ table. ‘Miss Hyacinth is looking terribly upset. I do hope Mr Vickers wasn’t rude to her.’

  As one, they watched as the man in question made his way back to his own table. There was an ugly, sullen look on his face, which did not bode well. Rose turned her attention to Hyacinth Trimble, whose pale, white face contrasted sharply with Mr Vickers’ flushed red one. She was just wondering whether she ought to go over and comfort the older woman when a disturbance of sorts caused her attention to return to Mr Vickers. It appeared that, somewhat worse for drink, he had collided with Ron Thurlow, the private courier, who had not long returned from one of his tours of the island and was hurrying to his table before the soup was served.

  ‘I say, look where you’re going, Vickers, won’t you?’ said the young man, affably enough, given the circumstances. ‘You almost made me walk into that table.’

  Mr Vickers’ only reply was to mutter something under his breath and push his way rudely past the young man.

  ‘I say,’ said Ron Thurlow, to nobody in particular, ‘what’s up with him?’

  He did not wait for a reply but glanced instead at the Adlers’ table, where he bestowed a discreet smile on the vicar’s daughter, Mabel, before making his way towards his own table. He had only walked a few steps, however, when Cedric accosted him.

  ‘I say, Thurlow, you’re employed by a travel company, aren’t you? That’s to say, you arrange escorted tours and that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, for individual travellers and private parties.’ Ron Thurlow said, strolling over. He approached the Belvederes’ table and drew himself up to his full height, adding with a chuckle, as if he were reading from a page: ‘My role is to supervise the general arrangements of a tour, relieving the individual traveller or party of all troubles as to details.’

  ‘I say,’ said Cedric, ‘that does sound grand. I don’t suppose you have been asked to charter a boat?’

  ‘To go to the mainland?’

  ‘No. To come here to Skiathos from Athens.’

  ‘No, my lord. Is the hotel expecting further guests?’ The young man looked surprised. ‘I thought we were to be the only ones, what with it being Hotel Hemera’s inaugural season. I’ve still to submit my report to my travel company, you know, to advise them whether I consider it a suitable hotel for our clientele. Of course,’ he added confidentially, ‘between you and me this hotel is far too grand for our usual type of customer. Their purses won’t stretch to this, but –’

  ‘What my brother is trying to ask you,’ interjected Lavinia impatiently, ‘is have you been engaged by the Duchess of Grismere?’

  ‘The Duchess of Grismere?’ said Ron, visibly surprised. Rose wondered whether it was her imagination that his hand shook a little. Before she could think any further on the matter, however, their conversation was interrupted once again.

  ‘Oh, Lord Belvedere; Lady Belvedere,’ cried a voice, and Miss Hyacinth Trimble was upon them appearing flustered. ‘I really don’t know what to say. I thought Mr Vickers said the Duchess … but you see, I must have been mistaken. I have just spoken with the proprietor, Mr Kettering, who assures me that though two guests are indeed expected, neither one of them is the Duchess of Grismere. Oh, I feel such a fool, I can’t tell you, and yet I was certain that Mr Vickers said … Oh, dear; how silly of me.’ She gave them a rather foolish smile. ‘Apparently they are a Mr Dewhurst and his sister, Miss Dewhurst.’ She giggled nervously.

  Much to everyone’s relief, the hotel band began to play and for a few minutes the attention of all those present was drawn to the stage and the musicians battling with their instruments in the heat. They struck up a delightful tune, and the thoughts of some had drifted to the dancing that would take place after dinner. Even Mr Vickers seemed to be appreciating the music, swaying in his seat to the melody.

  The stage on which the band performed was set at one end of the room, flanked on each side by a large pair of French windows which, like the other windows, had been left open, the thin curtains that adorned them billowing gently in the breeze. The windows themselves looked out upon the terrace that skirted the perimeter of the hotel building, and which was now in darkness except for the glow cast by the chandeliers inside the room. One tune had just finished, and another was starting, when a commotion of sorts could be heard outside one of the windows. It was loud enough to render the musicians silent as they turned, with instruments in their hands, to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. Behind her shoulder, Rose heard a sharp intake of breath as a young man emerged from the shadows and came into the room through the open window. He was tall and dark, and his evening clothes, which were exquisitely cut, fitted him to perfection. He stared at the upturned faces of the hotel guests and the vague, bewildered looks of the musicians and smiled. It was obvious from his expression that he was delighted by the reaction his unorthodox entrance had caused. The same could not be said, however, of his companion, a woman, who, in the silence that followed, could be heard calling to him in hushed tones.

  ‘Brother, darling, do come here.’

  Rose was conscious that her husband started at the sound of the voice. The young man being addressed, meanwhile, pretended not to have heard his companion and ventured further into the room. The movement caused the woman to appear at the window and peer into the room, while keeping herself mostly in the shadows. It was evident that this furtive action had annoyed the young man for, before she could prevent him, he had seized the woman by the hand and all but dragged her into the room.

  ‘Come, there is no need to be shy … sister,’ he said, laughing.

  The woman pulled herself away from his grasp, clinging vaguely at the thin curtain, as if she wished to use it as a veil of sorts to conceal her identity. The gesture was too late, however, for the harm had been done.

  ‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘It is the duchess!’

  Chapter Three

  The woman by the window froze, almost as if she were a statue. She was too far away to have heard the earl’s muffled exclamation, but some hidden instinct caused her to glance round the room. Her eyes alighted at once on the Belvederes’ table, and she gave a visible start, her hand going up to her mouth, as if to stifle a cry. For a moment, she seemed to hover on uncertain feet, swaying slightly in the evening breeze that wafted through the window. Then she turned and groped almost blindly back through the curtains, her hand outstretched to push aside the fabric and escape. The next second, she had disappeared. Her companion, meanwhile, looked somewhat taken aback by this turn of events, and not a little put out. He remained standing where he was for a few minutes, as if he half expected the woman to reappear. When it became evident that she would not,
he shrugged his shoulders at the assembled crowd and followed the woman’s example, retracing his steps back on to the terrace and out into the night.

  Rose, who was seated next to Cedric, looked about her surreptitiously, wondering if anyone else had heard her husband’s startled cry of recognition. A quick glance at his face had been enough to reveal that the words had escaped unbidden from his lips, such had been his surprise. She did not doubt that he fervently regretted his outburst. Looking about her, however, it appeared that his words had fallen on deaf ears. For what had intrigued the hotel patrons the most was not so much the identity of the newcomers, but their unusual entrance and departure.

  ‘Well, I say, how very odd!’ declared Miss Hyacinth. ‘I suppose they must be members of the band to just appear at the window like that? I thought the man was about to march on to the stage and start singing, didn’t you?’

  This question was not directed at anyone in particular, but at the room at large. Among them all, it was only Lavinia who chose to respond.

  ‘He looked the sort,’ she agreed conversationally. ‘I must say, there was something awfully familiar about the woman. I daresay I’ve seen her perform somewhere, though it’s difficult to tell, what with her being wrapped up like that.’

  ‘Fancy her wearing what she was, Lady Lavinia,’ continued Miss Hyacinth, in her element. ‘I mean to say, who would wear a fur coat in this weather?’

  ‘Yes, it is a trifle odd. And rather a good one at that. The coat, I mean. Silver fox, I’d say.’

  ‘She seemed a poor nervous little thing,’ said Miss Hyacinth, ‘clinging on to the curtain like that. Performers often are shy, or so I’ve been told. Oh,’ she added, ‘here’s Mr Kettering now. Let me ask him. I say, Mr Kettering …’

  They did not hear the remainder of her sentence, for she had scurried across the floor to accost the hotel proprietor before anyone could stop her. They all watched her idly, for her enthusiasm to undertake the task seemed almost comical. However, without what Lavinia termed Miss Hyacinth’s endless prattle, the room seemed strangely quiet. Even the band still appeared distracted by the odd encounter, for they were yet to strike up another tune.

  Rose, growing bored with the spectacle of Miss Hyacinth dramatically gesturing towards the window, and Mr Kettering nodding politely in response, took the opportunity to study the other occupants of the room. It was with some surprise that she found Ron Thurlow still staring intently at the window through which the man and woman had appeared. It was then that she remembered hearing a sharp intake of breath, and she regarded the young man curiously. It was possible that he, in turn, felt her eyes upon him, for he turned to her and smiled.

  ‘It’s certainly one way to make an entrance, your ladyship’ he said. ‘Next time, I’ll think about coming in that way myself.’ His tone was jovial enough as he cast a look in the direction of the vicar’s daughter, which appeared reciprocated, yet Rose had the odd impression there was something rather forced about his humour.

  It was only when Ron Thurlow had returned to his own table and Lavinia, impatient as ever, had joined Miss Hyacinth to interrogate the poor hotel proprietor that Rose turned to address her husband.

  ‘Was that woman really the duchess?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Cedric gave an involuntary start. ‘You heard what I said?’ He passed a hand through his hair, alarm clouding his handsome features. ‘Gosh, I hope the others didn’t.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think they did; you spoke very quietly.’

  ‘But you heard me,’ Cedric pointed out.

  Rose might have said that in a sea of voices she would have distinguished his, that however quietly he had spoken she would have heard his words. Instead, she said:

  ‘Yes … well, I was sitting next to you.’ She picked up her napkin and stared at it, as if she found something about its fabric that enthralled her.

  ‘Darling –’ began her husband.

  ‘Was that really the missing duchess?’ Rose repeated sharply, as if she feared her husband’s talk would stray on to other topics.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cedric, glancing at his wife in a resigned fashion, and interpreting her mood correctly. ‘That’s to say, I think so. I only caught a glimpse of the woman, but it looked awfully like her.’

  ‘I wonder what she is doing here on Skiathos?’ mused Rose.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s quite a coincidence her turning up like this.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose she quite reasonably assumed she wouldn’t meet anyone who knew her on this island, certainly no one in society.’ Rose gave her husband a sidelong glance. ‘It was just unfortunate for her that your secretary’s brother had chosen to open a hotel here, and that we should be among his first guests.’

  ‘I’d say. I don’t suppose we should have come here otherwise. Though it really is the most delightful island.’

  ‘It is,’ murmured Rose, her thoughts elsewhere, for she was remembering the woman’s frightened gasp. ‘Of course, she recognised you too; the duchess, I mean. I suppose you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I say, do you think so?’ Cedric frowned. ‘I thought she did, though I hoped I’d been mistaken. We’ve only met on a few occasions and I thought it quite possible she wouldn’t remember me.’

  ‘It would only have been a matter of time before she discovered you were staying here,’ pointed out his wife.’ I imagine she would have enquired of the proprietor about the other guests.’

  ‘Yes, and now she knows I’m here, I suppose she’ll keep to her rooms. Of course,’ Cedric added, his forehead furrowed, ‘it puts me in a dashed awkward position.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The duke is a member of my club. We’re not closely acquainted or anything like that, but we know one another. We pass the time of day, that sort of thing.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘But I happen to know from some of the other chaps that he’s awfully cut up about this business. He goes about with a long face, and I can’t tell you how he’s aged in the last few weeks.’

  ‘Because of the duchess’ disappearance, you mean? Do you think he knows she’s here on Skiathos?’

  ‘I very much doubt it, though she left him a letter, by all accounts.’

  ‘Before she vanished?’ enquired Rose, considerably intrigued.

  ‘Yes. She gave it to one of the servants at the ball with the request that he hand it to her husband later that evening. Rumour has it in the club that she asked the duke not to look for her. You know the sort of thing? She was dreadfully sorry and all that, but he must try to forget her.’

  ‘And he has complied with her wishes?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. He’s dashed worried about her. One only has to look at him to know that. Besides, he’s not the sort of man to not do anything. He’ll be searching for her all right, though he won’t make a song and dance about it.’

  Both fell silent for a moment and Rose took the opportunity to study her husband’s face, as if searching for a clue to his thoughts.

  ‘You’re not proposing to write to the duke, are you?’

  ‘I’m not sure what to do for the best,’ admitted Cedric. ‘It would seem pretty underhand and of course really it is none of my business …’

  ‘But you feel it your duty nevertheless?’

  ‘You should have seen him, darling. The duke, I mean. The other day in my club. He looked so wan and frail, a shadow of his former self.’

  ‘I don’t think it would be right or very fair to the duchess to do anything without speaking to her first,’ Rose said firmly. ‘As you’ve said, it’s none of our business.’ She regarded her husband’s troubled face. ‘Why don’t you request an interview with her? I daresay she’s anxious to speak with you, if only to ask you to keep her presence on this island a secret.’ Cedric made as if to protest, but Rose hurried on. ‘You could take the opportunity to tell her that you are worried about her husband’s health and that you would feel awkward keeping him in the dark concerning
her whereabouts.’

  ‘I say, that’s an idea,’ said Cedric, brightening considerably, ‘I might suggest that she write to him herself.’ His face clouded again. ‘I didn’t much like the look of that fellow she was with, did you? There was something damned impertinent about his manner.’

  Rose hesitated a moment and then said: ‘Did you hear how she referred to him? Is he really her brother, do you think?’

  Cedric snorted. ‘I don’t think that very likely, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Rose admitted, a little reluctantly. ‘There would have been no need for secrecy if she were just visiting a relative. I suppose you think that –’

  ‘She has run off with this chap?’ Cedric said, finishing his wife’s sentence. ‘Yes, I do. What else can one think? Though I’m more than a little surprised. I always thought the duke and duchess were a most devoted couple.’ He sighed. ‘But I suppose one can never tell what goes on inside other people’s marriages.’

  ‘No,’ said Rose, crumpling the napkin between her fingers. ‘I daresay one can’t.’

  The note of bitterness in her voice caused her husband to look up. He regarded the pained expression on her face, and for a moment did not speak. For he did not need to be any kind of a genius to realise that his wife was no longer referring to the Duke and Duchess of Grismere. Inwardly, he groaned, and yet he felt a lightening of his mood, for it seemed an age since they had talked liked this. He had grown too used to polite, forced conversation and monosyllabic answers.

  ‘Rose –’

  ‘I say,’ said Lavinia, bounding up to their table, ‘you two do look glum. Have you had a falling out?’ She did not wait for them to reply but hurried on, a force to be reckoned with. ‘They’re called Dewhurst. The new guests. Brother and sister, though I thought she looked a lot older than him, didn’t you? Mr Kettering says she’s something of an invalid, which must make it dreadfully dull for her poor brother. I expect she’s just the sort to keep to her room and expect him to wait on her and pander to her needs. You know the sort, fetch and carry for her, like a servant.’