A Grave Welcome Page 8

  George could be telling the truth, but one fact kept nagging at me. A few minutes after I ran from the alley, Mr. Worthing had sent a police officer to investigate the alley. When the officer arrived at the scene of the argument, he found Frederick Grossmith’s body. If George’s story was true, it meant that in the three to four minutes between when he left Frederick in the alley with a bloody nose and when the officer arrived, someone else would have had to arrive and shoot Frederick, killing him. The window of opportunity was a small one. I didn’t say any of this to George, though. We were still in an uncomfortably small space together, and I didn’t want him to know I suspected he might be lying.

  “That does not answer the question of why you chose to burn the gloves,” I said as gently as possible. “If you were not guilty of the murder, why would you need to destroy them?”

  George had been looking at the floor, but he lifted his face just enough so I could see the shadows under his eyes, the lines around his face that, though they had probably been there for many years, looked suddenly deeper. Whether he committed the murder or not, I didn’t know, but the incident had not been easy on him. The part of me not consumed with questions and fear pitied him.

  “The Beckinghams took a chance on me,” he said softly. “I came from a poor family. I have a history of burglaries and other mistakes from my past. My brother went to prison for murder. No one wanted to hire a criminal or the brother of a murderer, but the Beckinghams believed in me. They gave me a job and a home and a life. I burned the gloves because I was afraid of what would happen if anyone even connected me to the scene of the murder. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the fate of Frederick Grossmith as possible.”

  He moved as though he were going to lunge forward and I seized up, fear tensing my muscles, but then, at the last second, he collapsed back into an armchair. Dust rose from the upholstery, each speck illuminated in the light from the lamp behind him. Sitting there, George looked like a defeated man.

  “I understand if you feel you need to tell someone,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I must also ask you to believe me. I did not kill anyone. I would never. This could cost me my job.”

  “There is much more on the line than your position with the Beckinghams, if the police find cause to suspect you of the crime,” I said.

  His already pale face turned a translucent white. I could see the veins running across his forehead and around his eyes. “Are you going to accuse me?”

  With George sunken down in his chair, I took the opportunity to move across the room towards the door. I didn’t expect he would harm me—if he’d wanted to, he would have already—but I didn’t want to take any chances. “I do not yet know you as a person because we have only just met, so I don’t know that I can make you any promises on that front,” I said. “However, I will take everything you’ve said into consideration and I will not rush into a decision.”

  George didn’t turn around as I walked to the door, but I could see the back of his head nodding up and down, absorbing what I’d said. “That is as fair a response as I suppose I can ask,” he said. “Thank you, Miss Rose.”

  With that, I backed out of the door, cut across the garden, and dove into the enveloping safety of the main house.

  I didn’t see anyone as I made my way up to my room, for which I was grateful. Though I’d told George I would not rush into a decision, my face certainly would have given away the thoughts swirling in my mind. Once in my room, I went immediately to the basin in the corner and wetted down my flushed face. The scar on my cheek stood out red and angry against my skin, and once I patted my skin dry, I dabbed on a bit of white powder to dampen the color. Once I felt like myself again—or, as much myself as I would ever be again—I dropped onto my bed, hands over my eyes, and took a few deep, settling breaths.

  I’d woken up that morning early, prepared for the day. I would speak to Achilles Prideaux and visit the cemetery. It was more of a cleansing ritual than anything else. I wanted to remove all barriers, physical and emotional, that stood in the way of me achieving what I’d come to London to do. Instead, however, I’d found myself entangled in yet another murder investigation. Because, as much as I didn’t want to get involved, I was the only person in the Beckingham household who knew anything about George’s connection to the dead man at the docks. If he was a murderer, I was the only person who stood between him and the family I was coming to care about. I would have to either clear his name or prove him guilty.

  The police sergeant from two nights before had mentioned that Frederick Grossmith worked at a jazz club, The Chesney Ballroom, which George admitted he had gone to. Perhaps I could go there and talk to the rest of the staff. I could get an idea of whether George’s depiction of Mr. Grossmith as a hot-headed, angry man was accurate. And maybe, if I was lucky, someone would have witnessed the initial argument between George Hoskins and Frederick Grossmith. Visiting the club would be the only way to learn about the victim and who might have had a motive to kill him.

  I stood up and moved to my closet, shoving everything aside until I found the dress hanging in the back. The dress I’d been certain I would never find occasion to wear. It was all sparkles and fringe, absolutely perfect for a jazz club.

  With my dress in order, only one question remained: how would I tell the Beckinghams I’d be missing dinner to go to a jazz club?

  11

  “You won’t be staying for dinner?” Lady Ashton asked, appalled even before mention of the jazz club.

  I’d come downstairs in my dress and the entire family had turned to stare at me, open-mouthed. The dress was sleeveless, knee-length, and loose around my waist. Small silver beads were stitched in a radial design, like a silver sun coming from the center of my chest, and the whole ensemble ended with long fringe that flowed to the middle of my calf. I’d matched the dress with a sequined headband and a pair of black t-strap heels. It was far more elaborate than anything I’d ever worn before, and the shock on the faces of my family proved they noticed the difference.

  “I’m sorry for the short notice,” I said, standing in front of the door to the entrance hall, one foot in the dining room, one foot out.

  “Where are you going?” Lord Ashton asked, lowering himself into his seat and sliding into the table. His voice sounded curious, but his face gave nothing away.

  I quirked my head to the side as though I had to think about it for a moment. “The Chesney Ballroom, I believe it’s called,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I tried to sound casual, but Edward narrowed his eyes at me, making me believe I’d sounded anything but.

  “Ballroom?” Lady Ashton asked. “As in, a club?”

  “A jazz club?” Alice asked, tucking her legs beneath her so she could more properly lean across the table and take in my outfit. “Are you going to dance?”

  “Do they even serve food there?” Lady Ashton asked. Her face was pinched with worry, and it was enough to almost convince me I should stay home. But I’d already done the hard part of telling them where I was going, it would have been silly to back out now.

  “Food and drinks,” Catherine said, arching an eyebrow at me. I couldn’t tell whether it was out of approval or disgust.

  “Drinking? A young lady can’t go out drinking alone.” Lady Ashton turned to her husband, seeking his agreement, and when he didn’t respond, I saw her kick him beneath the table.

  “Perhaps Edward could go with her,” he suggested. “He could ensure the place is respectable and well-suited for a lady.”

  His wife had clearly been hoping he’d dissuade me from taking the trip at all. Her lips puckered, but she seemed nervous to disregard his idea entirely.

  “I’m sure Edward is much too busy to—”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Edward said. He had already scooted away from the table, and in a surprising turn of events, he was smiling.

  I stared at him, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the surprise twist in which he laughed in my face and admitted he actuall
y hoped I would drink so much I’d lose my way home. But it didn’t come. He seemed genuinely pleased at the idea.

  “Well, I, uh…” Lady Ashton seemed perplexed, and with Lord Ashton, Edward, and myself against her, she was clearly outnumbered. So, she simply closed her lips tightly, turned her attention back to the table, and unfolded a napkin in her lap.

  “Have fun!” Alice shouted as we left. “Tell me everything!”

  “Alice!” Lady Ashton snapped. “Do not stand up on the furniture.”

  George drove us to The Chesney Ballroom and Edward seemed content to travel in perfect silence, which suited me just fine. I memorized the turns we took to get there, marking the buildings and houses and distinguishable trees in my mind. George had managed to remain completely stoic while Edward told him where we were headed. I only noticed the tiniest twitch in his hand at the mention of The Chesney Ballroom, and it was only because I’d been looking for it.

  When we arrived, big band music and laughter spilled through the open door and onto the street. George stepped around to help me out of the car, but Edward dismissed him, choosing instead to do it himself. He opened my door and extended a hand to me, which I reluctantly took.

  “No need to wait for us, George,” Edward said. “We’ll take a cab home.”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Edward?” George asked, his eyes flicking to me. “It’s no trouble for me to wait.”

  “Please,” Edward said, his voice a bit more clipped. “Enjoy the night off.”

  As soon as George pulled away, Edward became the person I’d been expecting from the very start. His smile faded to a sneer and he breezed past me and into the club, never once turning to be sure I was following him. But again, I didn’t take issue with any of this. If he preferred to avoid me for the entire evening, then he and I had very similar ideas of what would make for a pleasant evening. I hadn’t wanted anyone to accompany me anyway.

  I brushed a fingertip across my cheek, hoping the club would be dim enough that my scar wouldn’t stand out—not that it mattered much, of course, except for my own vanity—and stepped inside.

  It felt like I’d entered another world. Growing up in New York, I’d seen the seedy underbelly of the world. Then, living with the Beckinghams in India, I’d realized how lavish life could be. Servants and personal drivers. Dinner parties and ballgowns. Rose had a different pair of silk pajamas for every day of the week. The Chesney Ballroom, however, seemed to mix both worlds in a dangerous, glittering cocktail.

  Dim lights left patches of the room in shadow, and I slipped through them, trying to stay out of everyone’s way in the crowded space. Even though I didn’t want to speak to him, I found myself looking for Edward. Why had he so readily agreed to join me?

  I tried to ignore the blare of the band on stage and the dancers, who were flailing their arms and legs, sending the fringe on their dresses flying up into the air, revealing their stockinged thighs. I focused my thoughts on the task at hand. Edward was here somewhere.

  “I found a table.”

  The hand on my wrist made me jump, and I was prepared to strike out at whoever had grabbed me until I realized it was Edward. The lights in the club made his cheekbones and eye sockets look hollow like a corpse.

  My eyebrows pulled together, my brain trying to figure him out even though I’d already decided it was a useless endeavor. I still didn’t understand why he had decided to accompany me. Seeing my confusion, he rolled his eyes and pulled harder on my arm.

  “You have to eat dinner. If I take you home without food, my mother would never forgive me,” he said in a huff.

  That was one mystery solved. Edward, despite his tough outer shell, was afraid of his mother’s wrath. Perhaps I could use that particular weakness to my advantage.

  We sat at a table in the back corner. It offered an excellent view of the entire club, allowing me to take in the patrons and employees without looking too suspicious. A waitress with a dangerously short dress came over and Edward ordered us each baked ham and a gin fizz. The waitress stared longingly at Edward, probably hoping he would flirt with her—something I also would have paid good money to see for myself—before deciding it wasn’t going to happen and disappearing through a door in the back wall.

  I hadn’t noticed the doors at first, but now I could see several of them set into the back of the club. Waitresses moved in and out of one, submitting orders and carrying out plates. Another door in the back corner seemed to be used solely by the dancers, singers, and members of the band. It seemed most likely that was where the dressing rooms and break rooms would be located. If I wanted to speak to the employees without Edward breathing down my neck, that was where I’d have to go.

  “Why did you want to come here?”

  Edward’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to look at him. Only moments before, he had seemed content to pretend I didn’t exist, but suddenly he was staring at me. I felt like an animal in a cage, gazing into the eyes of the scientist who hoped to dissect me.

  “It seemed like a fun idea,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “Fun?” His dark eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes, fun,” I said, placing special emphasis on the word. “My life has been a series of tragedies of late, and I wanted to remind myself what it feels like to be normal.”

  Edward’s mouth twisted to one side. “That sounds like something I would say.”

  Suddenly, it was my turn to look surprised. “Does it? I can’t imagine you being concerned about fun.”

  “Come on, cousin. Have you forgotten our good times so quickly?” he asked.

  My heart leapt in my chest. It was easy to remember my situation when talking with Lord or Lady Ashton or Catherine or Alice. They were all so cordial and polite. Alice had been too little to remember me from her childhood and she only wanted to talk about India. Catherine didn’t want to talk at all, which didn’t bother me a bit. And Lord and Lady Ashton seemed uncomfortable making any mention of my parents, as if they were afraid I would crumble at the sound of their names. Edward was the only person who seemed set on challenging me, forcing me to prove repeatedly that I was who I claimed to be. If I wasn’t careful, he would find me out sooner or later.

  “Of course not,” I lied. “It is just that you have changed considerably since I last knew you.”

  I didn’t know this for sure, but I did know Rose, and she would not have liked the person Edward was. If they were ever close, it was because Edward was much different back then.

  The sly smile he wore faltered a bit, and his posture seemed to go with it. “The stressors of being an adult are more daunting than those of a child. I suppose I am a different person now.”

  I nodded my head in agreement. “As am I. Responsibilities and life events and time change people.”

  Edward looked ready to say something, but the waitress reappeared with our dinner and drinks. By the time she left, enough minutes had passed that the conversation felt fractured and stilted. I sipped my gin fizz and cut small slices of ham with my knife and fork, glad for something to keep my nervous hands busy.

  “I visited places like this often in school,” Edward said, leaning forward to speak over the band. “I was quite the dancer.”

  “Did all of your many dance partners tell you that?” I teased.

  His face darkened momentarily and his eyes narrowed. “I actually only stepped out with one girl while I was in school. Amelie. You remember her, right?”

  No, not at all. I never remembered Rose making a single mention of Amelie, but I did my best not to panic. If Edward saw nervousness in my face, he would pounce on it.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I must have forgotten. Being in India made it difficult to stay up to date with the family news.”

  Edward nodded, though suspicion was painted in thick layers across his face. “I understand, though I’m surprised you don’t remember this particular piece of news. You sent me a condolence letter after her funeral.”

  Funeral? Amel
ie had died? That was something Rose most certainly would have remembered. Also, it helped explain Edward’s constantly sour mood.

  “Oh, of course. Amelie,” I said, saying the name as though it were the answer to a puzzle I’d been trying to solve. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been quite the same since the accident. My memory comes and goes.”

  That was a believable excuse, right? It had been an explosion. My cheek had been damaged. There was no way for Edward to know I hadn’t suffered some kind of injury to my brain. Plus, even if he suspected I was lying, he wouldn’t be able to say it. That was the small benefit of the kind of trauma I’d endured, no one wanted to talk about it.

  Edward looked off towards the dance floor and nodded his head a few times, so I knew he’d at least heard me. We had both finished our meals and the waitress hadn’t been back to ask whether we wanted more drinks, so my body was humming with unspent energy. I needed to stand up.

  “Do you want to dance?” I asked, tipping my head towards the dance floor.

  He looked at me, eyes wide, for a second before resuming his neutral expression, standing up, and extending a hand. I took it and he led me to the dance floor.

  The rest of the club appeared to be couples, and drunk couples, at that, so the tamped down somberness between me and Edward stood out. Where everyone else was flailing and swirling around the room, we remained contained, moving only as fast as the music required. Even still, it was clear Edward had a fair deal more experience than I did. In direct opposition to his suspicious glances and biting comments, his body moved with grace and confidence around the dance floor. Enough so that he was able to lead me with ease.

  After the final spin of an upbeat jazz number, the band quieted and a man stepped up to the microphone.

  “Everyone, Everilda Cassel,” he said, his voice low and booming.

  The crowd cheered and shouted as a petite woman with long, lean muscles moved across the stage to the mic. Her tanned skin paired perfectly with her gold flapper dress. Shimmery beads like bits of pearl and opal were embroidered on the material and caught the stage lights as she moved. Everilda had short curly hair that was slicked back beneath a headband, a few curls strategically coming forward to frame her high cheekbones.