Free Death Wears a Mask by Ashley Weaver Page A

Barringtons’ nephew.”
    â€œJames Harker?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat’s happened?”
    He hesitated for only a moment. “I’m afraid he’s killed himself.”
    *   *   *
    I HAD HOPED, after the events at the Brightwell Hotel, never to put myself in the path of sudden and unnatural death again. Of course, I suppose I really had very little say in the matter. If one is determined to kill oneself in a public place, there is not much the bystanders can do about it.
    Milo didn’t offer any details, and I didn’t want to know, not really. He had been in that room, and I could only assume it must have been dreadful.
    â€œWill you be all right here for a few moments, Amory?” Milo asked, drawing me out of my reverie. “I have something I must attend to.”
    Our eyes met, both of us knowing perfectly well what, or rather who, it was.
    â€œBy all means,” I replied, too tired to think of anything more cutting to add.
    â€œI’ll be back in a moment.”
    But he wasn’t. Apparently, Mademoiselle Renault was in need of greater consolation than I, for Milo had not returned by the time Lord Dunmore came back to the room.
    Though the viscount carried himself with his usual confidence, his face was grave.
    â€œYou’ve heard, Mrs. Ames?”
    â€œYes. It’s so terrible.”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œYes, of course. How is Mrs. Barrington? Has she been told?”
    â€œMr. Barrington is with her now. She’s terribly upset, naturally, but quite composed.”
    I felt sorry for the woman. In the short time that I had observed them together, it had become apparent to me that she was very fond of her nephew. I’m sure his unexpected death would be hard on her.
    â€œThe police should be here soon,” he said. “I don’t think the guests downstairs know what has happened. I suppose they’ll find out soon enough, however. If you’ll excuse me for a few moments, I should probably wait for the police to arrive.”
    â€œOf course. Thank you for looking in on me.”
    He left me alone and I knew he must be right about the other guests not knowing, for the music carried on below as though nothing had happened. People were dancing, eating, and laughing, blissfully unaware of what had occurred upstairs. I envied them.
    A few moments later, the doctor Lord Dunmore had contacted appeared and examined my ankle. He was a stout, white-haired gentleman who went about his business with brisk efficiency.
    â€œNothing broken,” he said when he had finished his examination. “Just a nasty sprain. You should probably stay off of it for a few days and let it heal.”
    It was a better diagnosis than I had expected, but the thought of being bedridden was not an appealing one.
    He seemed to sense my feelings, for he added, “If you’ll give me your address, I can have a cane sent around to you in the morning. That should help you get about when necessary.”
    â€œThank you, doctor.”
    He left without saying anything of the other business, though I was certain he must have spoken to Lord Dunmore. It was frustrating in the extreme to be stuck in this bedroom. I wanted to be able to help in some way, and I couldn’t even walk.
    A moment later, Lord Dunmore knocked and came in again, this time followed by a man who could only have been a policeman. Dressed in a brown suit and a serviceable wool coat, he had a stern, humorless face. My initial impression was confirmed as Lord Dunmore made the introduction.
    â€œMrs. Ames, this is Inspector Harris. He’s going to use the library to interview the others that were upstairs at the time, but I told him you were injured.”
    â€œGood evening, madam,” the inspector said, casting his dark eyes over me in a vaguely disapproving way, as though it was rude of me to lie there while being interviewed.
    â€œGood