Percy paused, then went on, “I wanted to get Aunt Enid and then Mama on our side first. Papa would have agreed, eventually, but if he’d first been pushed into a corner by Edward and Uncle Horace, there would have been no hope. You know how Papa gets once he’s taken a position on something—it’s as if it becomes carved in stone.”
Alaric did, indeed, know the present Viscount Mandeville’s tendency to adhere to a stated position in the face of all reason. Everything Percy said rang true. “So when Glynis and Mrs. Macomber arrived…?”
“I drew Glynis aside and explained about Edward and how things would play out if he heard of our engagement. I’m not sure she believed me at first, but then she met Edward and understood. We—she and I—had hoped to be more open about our engagement—we thought that once Aunt Enid was won over, we could let it be unofficially known, at least among those here.” Percy sighed—a bleak sigh of sorrow and loss—and raked his hand through his hair. “But that’s all beside the point now.”
“Did you or Glynis tell anyone here about your otherwise secret engagement?”
“No. Well, it wouldn’t have been a secret then, would it? We both agreed to keep it to ourselves—we were set on marrying, and if that was what it took to have our best shot at it, then…we decided that’s what we’d do.” Percy paused, then amended, “I daresay she told Mrs. Macomber—I imagine in London before we realized we’d need to keep things under wraps here. Glynis must have said something to her about us keeping mum for the nonce. The old lady wouldn’t have given us away—she’s been a good egg throughout.”
Alaric leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands. His gaze remained locked on Percy’s face. “Do you know why Glynis was outside in the shrubbery on Monday night after everyone else retired?”
Percy blinked and refocused on Alaric’s eyes. “She came out to meet with me. That’s what we were reduced to—meeting in secret in my own gazebo out by the long pool.”
Alaric knew of the spot; he could see the sense in choosing it. “So she slipped away…from the drawing room?”
Percy nodded. “She went out via the terrace—no one but me saw her go. Then I went upstairs with the other men—well, I had to, because Edward was there, and his room is along the family wing, so I had to go into my room and wait until his door shut, then I came out again and went down the west stairs and around. Glynis was waiting for me in the gazebo.”
“And later, when she left?”
“We left by different routes, just in case someone looked out and saw us leaving the shrubbery together. I went out via the shrubbery’s rear entrance, the one the gardeners use, and circled around the hedges, then cut across the forecourt and walked around the house to the west door. Glynis went back toward the shrubbery’s main entrance…” Percy’s voice faltered; he drew in a long breath, then continued, “She intended to go back onto the lawn and return to the house via the front door.” Percy looked at Alaric. “But some blackguard met her and murdered her.”
Percy’s head drooped, and he put up a hand to shade his eyes.
Alaric allowed several minutes to elapse, giving Percy a chance to compose himself. Then Alaric asked, “Do you know what it was that Glynis was wearing on the chain around her neck?”
Percy nodded. Looking down at his hands, now clasped between his knees, he replied, “I assume it was Mama’s original engagement ring. Mama had given it to me—her fingers had swollen, and she’d had my father get her another ring, and she gave me the one he’d originally given her…to encourage me to find a suitable young lady on whose finger to place it.”
That sounded exactly like the viscountess.
Finally, Percy raised his head and looked Alaric in the eye. All life seemed to have leached from Percy’s face, replaced by deadening sorrow. In a flat tone, he said, “The last sight I had of Glynis, she was about to walk into the avenue leading to the shrubbery entrance. She turned and smiled at me and waved…” Percy’s voice gave out, and he looked down.
After a long moment, he lifted bloodshot eyes to Alaric’s face; he met Alaric’s sharp gaze with absolutely no screens or veils. “And now she’s dead, and they—the inspector and the Adairs—think I did it. And I must have been the man Rosa saw, and so they’ll think I killed her, too. What am I to do?”
Alaric studied all he could see in Percy’s eyes, then he straightened and rose and reached for Percy’s arm. “Come with me.” He drew Percy to his feet. “You need to tell Stokes and the others all you’ve just told me.”
Percy looked frightened, but didn’t resist as Alaric towed him out of the alcove.
Chapter 8
Constance had reached the small parlor to find it empty. For a second, she’d dithered, then she’d hurried through the busy kitchens and a neat kitchen garden to the stables. There, she’d found Vine, her grizzled groom, and towed him back into the house. Constance found Mrs. Carnaby in her room and requested a maid to conduct Vine to Mrs. Macomber’s room, so he could assist Pearl in protecting the old lady.
At present, the tale of the secret betrothal rested on Mrs. Macomber’s testimony.
Then Constance had begged the use of the housekeeper’s master key and quickly climbed the back stairs.
After looking out of a window and confirming that the house party’s guests were still engaged in knocking balls through hoops, Constance hurried into and down the corridor that served the ladies’ wing.
On reaching the door of the room Rosa Cleary and Glynis had occupied, Constance inserted the key and tried to turn it, but the mechanism wouldn’t shift. She frowned, then eased the key the other way and felt resistance; the door was already unlocked. Carefully and silently, she withdrew the master key and gently gripped the knob. When it turned, she held her breath, then, having no idea who she would find, she drew in air, opened the door, whisked inside, and shutting the door, placed her back to the panel and stared across the room—
“Oh.” She took in Stokes’s, Barnaby’s, and Penelope’s curious faces. At least they aren’t laughing. She straightened. “I looked for you downstairs, then borrowed the housekeeper’s key.” She held it up.
“Searching this room is one of those must-do things on our investigation list,” Stokes dryly said. “Especially after we learned that Rosa and Glynis shared it.”
“Alaric and I just learned the same thing.” Constance glanced from Stokes to Penelope and Barnaby. “Have you found the letters?”
“What letters?” Penelope’s eyes lit, and eagerness infused her expression.
Constance opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak, a sharp rap on the door had her stepping smartly away.
The door opened, and Alaric entered—dragging Percy Mandeville after him.
“Ah,” Constance said. “This should explain all.”
Alaric had focused first on her, then he looked at Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope. “There are several things Percy has to tell you that you need to hear.”
Alaric stepped back and closed the door, leaving Percy exposed to the interested—and at that point, unthreatening—gazes of Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope. Indeed, if there was any emotion visible in their faces, it was encouragement and curiosity—a willingness to listen.
Percy, apparently, saw that. He drew himself up, seemed to search for words, then confessed, “I…ah, haven’t, I regret, been entirely forthcoming”—Percy glanced at Constance and warily dipped his head—“regarding my relationship with Miss Johnson.”
Constance listened without comment as Percy falteringly—with the occasional prompt from Alaric—explained the circumstances of his engagement to Glynis and the reasons he had asked and she had agreed to keep their understanding a closely guarded secret. None of the others interrupted, either; given Percy’s rambling style of explication, any question risked delaying the moment when they would have it all clear in their heads.
The one point above all others that struck Constance was Percy’s quite evident pain. She had to a
gree with Alaric’s assessment that Percy was definitely not Glynis’s murderer; he had patently been one step away from worshipping the ground on which Glynis trod.
While Percy’s attempts to smooth their way with his family made him appear weak in Constance’s eyes, she could easily see Glynis having no argument with Percy’s approach; it was one Glynis herself would unquestionably have used had the shoe been on the other foot. Even to the imposed secrecy.
“So, you see, it was my mama’s original engagement ring that Glynis wore on the chain. I gave it to her as a sign of my unwavering intentions on Sunday, when we spoke and she agreed to keep our engagement secret. The ring was here, so I hadn’t been able to give it to her earlier—having to hide it spoiled the moment somewhat, but Glynis was pleased with it regardless. She said she didn’t mind hiding it, as that was the best route for us to get to the altar.” Percy looked around rather blankly. “That was what I was searching for when you found me. I couldn’t be sure that Glynis was wearing the ring on the chain on Monday night, so I came to see if it was here.”
“It isn’t,” Barnaby said. “We’ve searched thoroughly and found no ring.”
“Moreover,” Penelope added, “we suspect that the chain, with the ring, was around Glynis’s throat when she was killed, and the murderer took it.”
Percy frowned. “Whatever for?” Then he blinked. “I suppose it does have monetary value—it was a very pretty sapphire surrounded by diamonds set in gold.”
Constance remembered her goal. “What about the letters?”
Penelope pushed up her glasses. “I ask again, what letters?”
Constance glanced at Percy. “You wrote to Glynis, and she kept the letters.”
Percy blinked. “She did?”
“Yes. According to Mrs. Macomber, she kept them in her hatbox.” Constance turned and pointed to the hatbox perched on top of the armoire at her back. “I’m fairly sure that’s it.”
Alaric crossed to the armoire, lifted down the box, and handed it to Constance.
Stokes sighed. “I looked in there already. There are no letters there.”
Constance had opened the box. She looked down at the contents. Penelope drew close and peered in, too.
“Empty, as reported,” Penelope said. “But see”—she put her hand into the box and waved it—“there’s a space here, between her scarves, where the letters must have been.”
Constance stared at the empty spot, then she closed the hatbox. Alaric took it and set it back on top of the armoire.
Meanwhile, Penelope had turned and directed a meaningful look at Barnaby.
Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “We need to talk this through, but not here.” He looked at Percy. “We need somewhere where we can be absolutely certain we won’t be overheard.”
* * *
They adjourned to the south lawn, to the green room created by the sprawling branches of an ancient oak. The leaves screened them from curious eyes, yet allowed them to scan through the foliage in all directions. If anyone approached, they would see them long before they got close enough to hear anything short of a shout.
Stokes’s first order of business was to take Percy through the where, the when, and the substance of his private exchanges with Glynis, both in London prior to the house party and after her arrival at Mandeville Hall. Percy had, by then, regained some of his composure; he answered Stokes’s probing questions readily and with increasing clarity.
Eventually, having realized Stokes’s direction, Percy stated, “I honestly don’t think anyone could have overheard us. We were careful from the first. I recognized the necessity of presenting the match to my parents in the best possible light—in the right way—and Glynis supported that.”
Alaric mentally conceded that, in the matter of marrying Glynis Johnson, Percy had acted with quite astonishing circumspection—the very opposite of his usual recklessness.
“And it must be said,” Penelope stated, “that unless all the ladies here are lying, Glynis successfully concealed what she wore on her chain. Trust me—a ring like that would have caused a great deal of whispered comment, not to say speculation.”
Percy frowned. In the green-tinted shade beneath the leafy canopy, with his pallor deepening, he appeared increasingly bilious. He looked at Stokes. “You said the murderer had ripped the chain from about Glynis’s neck and taken the ring.” Percy’s expression turned devastated. “Good God! Was she killed because she’d accepted me?”
It was an appalling question to have to face. Sadly, no one had an answer—and none of them could bring themselves to offer Percy false assurances, either.
After a moment, Barnaby shifted. “Percy—did you keep the letters Glynis sent you?”
Lost in some nightmarish vision, Percy blinked, then with an effort, seemed to focus. After several seconds, he slowly shook his head. “No—I burned them. I’m not…tidy. I didn’t want any lying around where someone from the family—like Edward—might see. It was important I be the first to raise the marriage with my parents.”
Barnaby gently said, “You’ve stated several times that it was important to present the marriage to your parents in the correct way, but you haven’t explained why. You’re a second son, and Miss Johnson is surely eligible enough—I would have thought your parents would have been glad that you wished to settle down.”
“They would have been.” Percy raked a hand through his hair. “But trust me—if Edward or his father, or even one of his brothers, had heard of my choice before I’d gained my father’s support, they would have kicked up such a fuss the marriage would never have happened.” Percy glanced at Constance. “It wasn’t so much that Glynis was below me socially as that her rank wasn’t high enough for them.”
Alaric said, “Even though they are not the primary line, Edward’s branch of the family hold a highly elevated notion of the family’s station. Calling them high in the instep doesn’t come close to the reality.” He paused, then added, “Had I been in Percy’s shoes, having to deal with his parents and relatives, I might well have done the same.”
“I see.” Constance glanced around the circle, then asked, “When did Edward arrive? And why did he come?”
“I hadn’t expected him,” Percy said. “He simply turned up at lunchtime on Sunday. He’s never attended my house parties before, but apparently, he heard stories from some acquaintances of mine about what had gone on in years past and decided his presence was required to ensure nothing of a scandalous nature occurred. As he put it, ‘Nothing that might reflect adversely on the family name.’” Percy’s expression reflected his distaste for his cousin. “He’s nothing but a prig, but he cloaks his priggishness in supercilious, holier-than-thou arrogance, and frankly, it’s always proved easier to simply put up with him and wait for him to go away.” Percy met Barnaby’s eyes. “That was the tack I took this time, too. Concealing what I didn’t want him to know and waiting for him to go away.”
Constance glanced around again, then voiced the question that had to be hovering in everyone’s brain. “Could Edward have learned of your betrothal?”
Percy’s eyes widened, and he paled to a ghastly shade. “Good God, no!” After a second, he added, “Take it from me—if he had, I wouldn’t have heard the end of it. He would have badgered me night and day—that’s how he operates. He batters at one until one gives in and does as he wants. He’s relentless.” Percy blinked, then more calmly went on, “But he hasn’t said a word to me about the betrothal or Glynis.”
Given her experience of Edward, Constance found the assurance convincing; from the faint grimaces she caught on the others’ faces, they thought so, too.
For several moments, the six of them stood in the cool shade and grappled with all they’d heard, turning around this fact and that supposition, trying to piece what they now knew into a cohesive, understandable picture.
Eventually, Stokes stated, “While it’s tempting to put Edward at the top of our suspect list, there’s no evidence linking him to eithe
r crime.”
“No more than we can link any of the other gentlemen to the murders,” Alaric said.
Percy looked taken aback at the suggestion that his cousin might be the murderer, but from the others’ expressions, it was obvious to Constance that the rest of them were thinking along similar lines.
Barnaby humphed. “At least with Edward, we have a solid, established motive. One that potentially covers both murders.”
“Hmm.” Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure about that. Consider—Edward came here to ensure no scandal occurred to blot the family escutcheon, and instead, he commits two murders.”
Stokes grunted. “His intention in coming here is virtually an antimotive. If he’d learned of the betrothal, he might have wanted to disrupt it and ensure no marriage took place, but murdering the prospective bride to achieve that end would surely defeat his principal purpose.”
Penelope sighed. “I know it’s dangerous to make judgments of this type, but you have to admit that Edward is such a stuffy, finicky sort, it’s hard to see him coolly plotting and carrying out not just one murder but two. And if his motive was to end Percy’s betrothal, then we’re talking about premeditated murder—plotted, planned, and executed.” She shook her head. “That just doesn’t seem like Edward.”
“You also need to know,” Alaric said, “that Edward is deeply religious. His father’s a clergyman—”
“The Bishop of Lincoln’s right-hand man,” Percy glumly put in.
“—and Edward’s mother is a very pious lady.”
Stokes grunted. “If Edward’s not our man, and we discount Radleigh and Percy, that still leaves us with four gentlemen on our suspects list.” He looked at Percy. “You asked if Glynis could have been killed because she’d accepted your suit. Did she have any other suitors? Could she have been killed out of jealousy?”