We follow Madge into an arcade lined with heavy brocade wall coverings, which may have once been vivid crimson but have faded to washed-out pink. The intricately carved dark wooden chairs are draped in a similar bleached-out fabric, and I wonder just how long these pieces have been here. Illumination is not exactly abundant in this room, so the erosion of color must have taken time.
As we settle into the rigid, uncomfortable chairs, I say a silent prayer that this outing proves fruitful. We’ve managed to unearth only some basic information about the Williamses. Ngaio and Emma kept their appointment to meet with Louis Williams but came away empty-handed save for a report on his handsomeness, the photograph of a wife and children on his desk, and a few quotes for insurance they don’t need. They did happen to lay eyes on Louis’s father, Jimmy, who’d popped into Louis’s office during their meeting. But the encounter was fleeting.
While we have strong suspicions about the relationship between May and Louis, we need tangible evidence to link it to her murder. Because it is possible that May had a relationship with the married Louis Williams but that it had nothing to do with her death. In other words, we are on a wild goose chase. As for the official investigation into Leonora Denning, Mac is trying to procure it for me; I explained it away as research. In the meantime, we’ve got to flesh out the details of May’s theater visit.
A maid materializes with a silver tea service. The sisters, strikingly alike in appearance and mannerisms, sit back and wait to have their tea poured for them. Agatha inhabits a very different world from mine. My inclination would have been to pour the tea myself.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Dorothy,” Madge says. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Agatha, and of course I adore your Lord Peter Wimsey novels. And Iamenjoying the addition of Harriet Vane; she’s terribly modern.”
She shoots Agatha a look as she talks about my books. Is Madge’scompliment about my characters a way to criticize Agatha about her own? Sibling rivalry oozes from them, and it almost makes me relieved I never had siblings. My cousin Ivy has exceeded every wish I could ever have for a sister; I could have hoped for nothing more.
I’m about to excuse myself—for the washroom, for a quick breath of air, foranything—when Agatha asks, “Is Jim here? We had expected him for tea as well.”
“Jim will be along for tea momentarily.”
As if on cue, a ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a wide, easy smile pops his head into the Terrace Room. “Agatha! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting! The textile business waits for no man.”
He bursts into the room, wraps his sister-in-law in a warm embrace, and the thick tension lifts immediately. This bear of a man sticks his hand out in my direction, and says, “Jim Watts; pleased to meet you. You must be Agatha’s writer friend, Mrs. Sayers.”
“I am indeed. But please do call me Dorothy.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Dorothy.” Jim drops down into a chair with such force that it groans. “We are fortunate that you two artsy types will be on hand for the festivities tonight. Not up on the latest cultural developments myself.”
Madge adds, “Agatha doesn’t love to circulate, but perhaps she’ll be more convivial with you at her side, Dorothy.”
Make no mistake, Madge intends this to wound, and Agatha winces. My hackles rise at this unkindness. Isn’t Agatha helping Madge shop her play around this evening with her contacts? Why wouldn’t Madge be grateful? Does she resent her younger sister’s success that much?
Jim seems not to notice. In his blunderbuss fashion, he bellows, “Ah, you’ll be in your element tonight, Agatha. Thanks to your network, we will have a host of producers, directors, actors, and actresses here. Along with the usual crowd.”
I imagine the latter folks to be wealthy estate-owning neighbors and fellow upper-class businessmen and their wives. The Great War upended the staid social order of our country. Money and land hadgone hand in hand with title and rank since time immemorial, but taxes and death and the economic depression have eroded the status quo. And now the dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, barons, and run-of-the-mill lords—and their wives—have lost many of their estates and much of their wealth, creating a vacuum into which the merely monied, including Jim and Madge and their peers, can climb. Will Louis and Jimmy Williams be part of this crowd? I wonder.
“I appreciate your allowing me to attend the party,” I say, grinning at Jim and Madge.
“Our pleasure,” Jim says with feeling. Madge, I notice, doesn’t echo his sentiments.
Then, feeling a little guilty in light of their generosity, I tell a bald-faced lie. “I’m wondering if acquaintances of mine will be in attendance. The Williams family of Mathers Insurance.”
Agatha shoots me a startled glance. This hadn’t been on our agenda. But then I’d never considered whether the Wattses’ path might cross that of the Williamses. Surely Agatha doesn’t begrudge me two birds with one stone and all that.
“Williams, Williams,” Jim mutters. “Ah, yes, I do know the name. Jimmy Williams isn’t exactly my circle, as you might imagine. Not that I judge the man for his background—it’s not his fault that he was born a bastard to an unconscionably young housemaid and had to be raised by his grandmother. Or that he had to start working on the railroads at twelve.”
I flinch at the word “bastard.” It is a word I loathe for many reasons. Does anyone notice the heat rising to my cheeks?
Jim pauses to finish his drink, then continues. “In truth, I admire the man. It’s not often you see a lowly bastard become such a success. He’s made quite the name for himself in insurance, and he’s grooming his son to take over his company. But I can’t say we run in the same social circles. Certainly they won’t be here this evening.”
Agatha has long been slated to assist her sister with this event, but she intentionally didn’t share our other purpose with the Wattses.We didn’t want them eyeing us warily, but neither Madge nor Jim is naive.
“Doing a bit of research while you’re here?” Jim asks me. “Agatha enjoys setting her mysteries in bits and pieces of Abney Hall.”
I answer as vaguely as possible. “Less research and more general inspiration.”
Jim slaps his thigh. “Well, I say! To think that we might serve as inspiration. That’s good fun.”
Madge seems not to mind and, in fact, laughs at the notion. “We are used to Agatha pilfering settings from Abney Hall, but this is new. Dorothy, do I understand correctly that you might steal storylines and character traits from the Abney Hall inhabitants and guests?”
This isn’t my objective at all. But it will serve better than the truth. “Only with your permission,” I reply with a smile and a wink.
The Wattses laugh, and I watch as Agatha’s expression closes, becoming inscrutable. It must be painful to see her sister behave in a lighthearted manner with everyone but her. Even though Madge’s behavior rings somewhat false.
