“After that, however,” Alaric said, “everyone went outside. Most if not all congregated on the croquet lawn, and they’re still there.”
“So,” Stokes said, busily jotting in his notebook, “we have two approximately hour-long windows of opportunity during which the murderer might have planted the letters in here. Beyond those times, he would have had to slip away from the assembled guests—which would increase the likelihood of him being observed leaving or having his absence noted.”
“Yes, and since the guests repaired to the croquet lawn, Alaric and I, and more recently you four as well, have been rushing about the corridors up here,” Constance pointed out. “Yet we haven’t glimpsed anyone—especially not any gentleman—slinking about.”
“He wouldn’t slink,” Stokes said. “As cool as he is, he would stride along as if his purpose was completely innocent.”
“There was that half hour while we were out under the oak,” Percy put in. “Whoever he is, he could have noticed us, slipped away from the others, and planted the letters then.”
The others all looked at him, then Stokes grunted. “Good point.” He made another note.
“This room is at the end of the gentlemen’s wing,” Alaric said. “And only my room and Edward’s are in the cross-wing—the family wing. Anyone approaching Percy’s door would be in full view of anyone in either corridor and even by someone at the head of the stairs. There’s a clear line of sight.”
“So it was difficult and risky,” Barnaby said, “yet he managed it.”
“But was he seen?” Penelope asked. “That’s the critical question.”
Constance looked at Alaric. “Am I right in thinking that to get to the main stairs, Edward would have to pass Percy’s door, but in doing so, he would be visible to others farther up the corridor?”
Alaric met her eyes, then nodded. “Yes.”
Stokes paused in his writing to look at Alaric. “So if Edward had come from his room with the letters in his pocket, he could have walked into the gentlemen’s corridor close by Percy’s door, looked up the corridor and checked if there was anyone to see him, and if there wasn’t, he could have slipped into Percy’s room unseen?”
“Yes, but why would he?” Penelope answered. “If Edward’s misguided motive in killing Glynis and subsequently Rosa was to protect the family name, then surely returning the letters to Percy runs counter to that.”
“Unless he was simply returning the letters to Percy as the safest option,” Barnaby said. “From the state of that drawer, he might have thought Percy wouldn’t look in there in the next few days, and Edward might have realized that burning anything in the grates at this time of year would be noticed. He had no way of knowing that we would learn of the letters and search.”
“That still puts Edward’s principal motive at risk,” Stokes said. “Better he hide the letters somewhere in the house where they’re unlikely to be found and dispose of them later.”
Penelope grimaced. “True.” After a second, she added, “And more, the person with the letters, presumably the murderer, doesn’t have to be Edward. Just because the letters placed in Percy’s drawer were all from Percy, that doesn’t mean there weren’t other letters—ones from the murderer—that he needs to get rid of.”
Stokes grunted. “We’re going around and around inventing possibilities. The truth is we know far too little of our possible suspects to find success by that route.”
Penelope sighed. “You’re right. And I don’t have my usual supporters to appeal to. Finding out about anyone is much easier in London.”
“Yes, but,” Barnaby insisted, “we can still advance our cause by asking around and seeing if we can get a bead on who put the letters in here. It’s a house party, and all the guests know they have a murderer in their midst. They’ll be keeping their eyes open for any unusual behavior.” Barnaby looked at the others. “We need to ask.” He glanced at Penelope and Constance. “And aside from the guests, surely there would have been maids scurrying about, making up beds and so on?”
Both ladies nodded. “Indeed, there should have been,” Constance said, “at least during some of those windows of opportunity.”
“All right.” Stokes was getting restless, no doubt conscious of time running out. “We need to act immediately, so let’s divide the obvious next tasks.” He looked at Constance and Penelope. “You ladies are best qualified to extract information from the maids and the housekeeper—we need to know whether any of them spotted one of the gentlemen in the upstairs corridors or even on the stairs during our stipulated times. Also, whether they’ve noticed any unexpected ashes in some grate.”
Stokes shifted his gaze to Barnaby and Percy. “Meanwhile, we’ll interview the male staff on the same topics.” Stokes looked at Alaric. “I don’t want to call my constables off their assignment watching the guests. They’re likely to be more use to us by keeping track of who is where at this moment.”
Alaric nodded. “I’ll let them know what’s going on, and while I’m downstairs, I’ll find Monty. In general, his talents are unimpressive, but Monty has one peculiar trait—he observes in remarkable detail and can usually remember everything. It’s how his memory works.”
Stokes arched his brows. “Is that so? Then by all means, see what he can recall of the gentlemen’s movements during the day.”
Barnaby had been consulting his fob watch. He tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. “Time is ticking on. Let’s tackle our respective tasks and meet under the oak in an hour, at which time it’ll be close to five o’clock.”
Chapter 9
Five minutes later, Constance and Penelope were seated in comfortable chairs in the housekeeper’s room. Mrs. Carnaby stood before her small fireplace, and the maids of the house were assembled in serried ranks before Constance and Penelope.
“Now, girls,” Mrs. Carnaby said. “Please listen carefully to these ladies, and if you have an answer to their questions, speak up.” To Constance and Penelope, Mrs. Carnaby added, “I know I speak for all the staff in saying that we hope this nasty murderer is clapped in irons by the inspector and soon!”
“We sympathize entirely,” Constance replied.
“Indeed.” Penelope focused on the maids. “Our first question may seem strange, but have any of you noticed any ashes in any grate—any suggestion of papers being burned?”
The maids looked at each other, then at the youngest, a girl of about fourteen. She looked mortified to have been singled out, and blushed, then vehemently shook her head.
“Mitzy—speak up,” Mrs. Carnaby instructed. “No ashes in any grate?”
“No, ma’am,” Mitzy whispered.
“Good.” Penelope bestowed a smile on the tweeny, then looked at the maids as a whole. “Now, to those of you whose duties took them upstairs this morning—did you see any gentleman slip into your master’s room?”
The reply was a general shaking of heads and an eventual “No, ma’am” from the senior maid.
“At any time between eight o’clock this morning and when luncheon was served,” Constance said, “did any of you notice any gentleman walking about the upstairs corridors—the west wing and family wing in particular? Or even simply going upstairs?”
But that, too, was met with shaking heads and a “No, ma’am.”
Penelope met Constance’s eyes briefly, then changed direction. “Have any of you seen a sheaf of letters tied with yellow ribbon in any of the gentlemen’s rooms?”
After another exchange of looks and many heads shaking, the senior maid concluded, “No, ma’am.”
Constance shared a resigned look with Penelope; it had been a long shot to hope the murderer had left the letters lying about before he’d slipped them into Percy’s tallboy drawer. Then, recalling how literal staff sometimes were when being questioned by their betters, she looked at the maids and asked, “Did anyone see a gentleman carrying such a bundle of letters?” More shaking of heads. “No sighting of such a bundle of letters tied with ye
llow ribbon at all?”
One of the upstairs maids shifted. When Constance and Penelope focused on her, she offered, “If you mean Miss Johnson’s letters, then I did see them in her room.”
“Yes, those are the letters we’re interested in.” Penelope sat straighter. “When did you see them?”
The maid shot a look at Mrs. Carnaby; after the housekeeper nodded encouragingly, the maid replied, “I was assigned to help Mrs. Cleary and Miss Johnson, ma’am. She had the letters out a few times when I was in the room—that would be on Sunday evening and again on Monday afternoon—just reading or looking at them, but she always tucked them away in her hatbox, the one she kept on top of the armoire.”
“Did Mrs. Cleary know about the letters?” Constance asked.
The maid frowned. After a moment of inner debate, she said, “I can’t be sure, ma’am, but she was there on the Sunday evening when both ladies were dressing for dinner, and Miss Johnson had the letters out then, so Mrs. Cleary would most likely have noticed them, but I can’t say that she ever read them, ma’am.”
“I see.” Constance paused, then asked, “Did you notice what Miss Johnson was wearing on the chain around her neck?”
The maid nodded. “A ring it was, ma’am. Not sure what it meant to her, but she kept it hidden under her bodice, most times. I only saw it when I was helping her into or out of her gowns.”
“Do you think Mrs. Cleary knew about the ring?” Penelope asked.
The maid thought, but this time shook her head. “I shouldn’t think so, ma’am. Miss Johnson used the dressing screen, so unless she showed Mrs. Cleary the ring deliberate-like, I don’t think Mrs. Cleary would have known anything about it.”
Penelope suppressed a grimace. “Thank you.” She exchanged a glance with Constance, then surveyed the maids once again. “While we have you all here, is there anything any of you noticed about Mrs. Cleary—anything at all out of the ordinary? Anything that struck you as even mildly odd.”
“Anything you can tell us might be helpful,” Constance added, “no matter how trivial it may seem. As both ladies are dead and we’re trying to catch their murderer, this is not the time to hold your tongue.”
“Just so,” Mrs. Carnaby agreed.
Several elbows nudged one of the younger maids. Blushing furiously, she darted a glance at Mrs. Carnaby, then cleared her throat and timidly offered, “On Monday night…well, more like early Tuesday morning, I was out the back, in the kitchen garden, talking with Ben—he’s one of the grooms.”
Penelope nodded encouragingly. “That was the night Miss Johnson was killed.”
“Aye.” The maid’s voice gained in strength. “I was on my way back to the house when I saw Mrs. Cleary on the terrace. Just standing there, looking out, she was. She didn’t do anything that I saw.”
“Where on the terrace, exactly?” Penelope asked.
“Right at the end, ma’am, where the balustrade goes across.” The maid waved to the east side of the house. “She was standing out from the wall in the corner of the balustrade. She looked to be just taking the air.”
A frown had formed in Constance’s eyes. “I can’t recall—was there moonlight that night? You said you saw Mrs. Cleary…”
“Oh no, ma’am—it wasn’t bright at all. The moon wasn’t anywhere near full. But it was a clear night, and I could see her…” The maid tipped her head, clearly reviewing what she’d seen. “Well, I didn’t know it was her then, of course, but I could see it was a dark-haired lady standing there, looking out. I could make out that much easily enough.”
Constance’s eyes lit, and she nodded graciously to the maid. “Thank you.” When Constance glanced Penelope’s way, brows arched, asking if she had more questions, Penelope shook her head. Constance turned and graciously thanked Mrs. Carnaby and the maids for their time and their help.
Sensing a rising impatience in Constance, Penelope fell in with her co-investigator’s transparent wish to end the interview. They waited while Mrs. Carnaby dismissed her staff, then followed her from the room.
Stepping into the corridor leading to the servants’ hall, they heard the rumble of male voices; obviously Stokes, Barnaby, and Percy were still questioning the male staff.
Constance’s hand closed on Penelope’s wrist, and Constance halted, then she met Penelope’s eyes and tipped her head toward the rear door.
When Penelope arched her brows in query, Constance said, “I know we’ll be early to the oak, but unless you can think of something else to pursue, there’s a scenario I’d like to go over with you—away from here.”
Penelope inclined her head. “I can’t think of anything worth our while. A juicy scenario sounds promising—and it was pleasant under that oak.”
* * *
Barnaby surveyed the footmen, grooms, gardeners, and assorted boys Carnaby had assembled in the servants’ hall. It had taken more than fifteen minutes to gather all the male staff, but at last, they were all there, standing around the long table; from beside Stokes at the table’s head with Percy on Stokes’s other side, Barnaby listened as Stokes outlined the thrust of their questions—whether any gentleman of the house party had been seen going upstairs to the master suite during the day.
Stokes detailed the critical time periods during which gentlemen would have been free to slip upstairs. He concluded by running his gaze around the faces about the table. “So—did any of you see any of the gentlemen upstairs during those hours?”
Barnaby stirred. “Or even heading up the stairs.”
Carnaby and the footmen exchanged glances. As one, the footmen shook their heads, and Carnaby looked at Stokes. “No sir. But we’re rarely upstairs during those hours—only if called, and I don’t remember anyone ringing. Also…” Carnaby paused, then offered, “In the matter of tracing gentlemen visiting upstairs, I should point out that there are three staircases the guests might use to access their rooms, and we only monitor the front hall and the main staircase.”
Barnaby shot Stokes a look, which Stokes met. Both were recalling the secondary stairs they’d used earlier; apparently, there were more and doubtless several servants’ stairways as well.
Stokes returned his gaze to the assembled men. “Thinking back to those hours I mentioned and where you were during those times, did you notice any gentleman walking alone, either through the house, back to the house, leaving the house, or returning to the rest of the guests on the croquet lawn?”
Although the outdoor staff had been scattered here and there, weeding beds, digging a drainage ditch, and in the shrubbery, no one had seen any gentleman on his own. But even that came with a caveat. The head gardener pointed out that they’d all been busy and not looking about, keeping watch. Gentlemen may have come and gone, and they wouldn’t necessarily have noticed.
Stokes acknowledged that with outward good grace, but Barnaby could read his underlying frustration. Time was running out, and every lead they’d pursued had led to a dead end. Although Stokes tried several more questions regarding the movement of the male guests, there was clearly no pertinent knowledge to be extracted.
Finally accepting that, Stokes glanced at the clock. Barnaby followed his gaze—they still had more than half an hour before their meeting under the oak.
Doubtless fired by a dogged desire to have something positive to report, Stokes switched tacks. “Considering Mrs. Cleary, the second lady who was killed, is there anything—anything out of the ordinary at all—that any of you noticed about her?”
A pause ensued, then one of the older footmen volunteered, “I was in the conservatory corridor—the one that runs past the billiard room—on the evening before the lady died. I was there—close—when she came over faint.”
Along with Stokes, Barnaby looked as encouraging as he could, and the footman went on, “I noticed it particular because she stared straight ahead, as though she’d seen a ghost right there in the middle of the corridor.” He glanced at his mates. “T’tell the truth, it gave me quite a turn—the
way she stared—but then the other ladies gathered around, and she seemed to come out of it all right.”
Carnaby put in, “I’d sent Mark to put the billiard room to rights given the gentlemen were leaving and heading back to the drawing room.”
Barnaby studied the footman’s face; he didn’t look to be the fanciful sort. A picture of what might have happened in the corridor took shape in Barnaby’s brain. “The gentlemen came out of the billiard room ahead of Mrs. Cleary and the other ladies—correct?” When Carnaby and Mark nodded, Barnaby went on, “Could Mrs. Cleary have been staring at one of the gentlemen walking away down the corridor ahead of her?”
Mark blinked, then frowned. “Aye,” he allowed, “she could’ve been.” He grimaced. “If that was so, whoever he was, just the sight of him gave her a nasty turn. Went white as a sheet, she did.”
Stokes leaned forward. “Do you have any idea which gentleman it might have been? The one she reacted to?”
Mark shook his head. “No, sir. I was looking at her, not at the gentlemen. They were all together, walking in twos and threes up the corridor.”
Barnaby said, “At the moment in time when Mrs. Cleary reacted and you looked at her, had all the gentlemen left the billiard room?”
Mark looked at Barnaby and didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. They were all out. I was standing directly opposite the billiard room door, my back to the wall, waiting for the ladies to pass so I could go in.”
Percy, who, after instructing Carnaby to gather the male staff, had kept mum, cleared his throat and said, “I led the gentlemen out of the billiard room. I and those around me—Carradale and others—were at the head of the pack, as it were. We didn’t notice the ladies, and we’d no idea anything had happened until we heard later, in the drawing room.”
Stokes stared at Percy for a moment, as if juggling the positions of people in the corridor, then turned Barnaby’s way; Barnaby was waiting to catch his gaze and tip his head toward the door.
Stokes looked at Carnaby and the assembled men. “I believe that’s all we need for the moment. Thank you for your assistance.” Stokes cocked a brow at Barnaby.